Aftermath
by ZombieJazz
Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands. This is a collection of scenes using the characters as represented in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics. Chapters are not chronological. The story, however, begins immediately after S3 finale and Scenes.
1. Quarter Answers

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 **This is a collection of one-shots/scenes using the characters as represented in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes. The chapters currently represent scenes happening immediately after Justin's death in S3 finale. It will then span into S4.**

 **However, as I continue to update, they'll just provide one-shot snap shots into the characters' lives and likely some recasts of scenes from the show. This story is inspired by and influenced by canon in the series but it does not follow exactly and focuses more on personal lives than cases and will often deal with story arcs and plot arcs of the characters previously established in other stories in this AU.**

 **This series focuses on Voight and his remaining family, as well as Erin Lindsay's growing relationship with Jay Halstead.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin sat wringing her hands together and staring at that divider in front of the secretary's desk. Just staring. Not even thinking. She couldn't think. She didn't want to think. So she stared at that divider – that ledge, blocking that woman from the student body – that had likely been there for decades. It'd certainly been there since Erin had been at St. Ignatius. She'd stared at the think in that office before.

She started slightly as Father Caruso's door opened back up. Pulled out of her thoughts. Pulled into the now that she wasn't sure she could cope with. A now that she didn't want to cope with. Her eyes slowly drifted up to his.

He'd aged well. Even having spent all these years dealing with bratty teenagers and mean girls and over-protective, self-entitled, helicopter parents – he'd aged well. He still looked almost the same as she remembered him. Maybe that Jesuit outfit distracted you from any grayness that had set into him over the years. That outfit was always the same. That black rob.

She'd looked up at him from that same chair a lot of times in the past too. More times than she could remember. But somehow thinking about that right now – reflecting back on it and trying to pin a number to it – seemed easier than anything else she could or should or needed to think about in that moment.

Besides the look on his face, as he looked down at her, was different than the one she got in high school. It wasn't anger or that 'not again' or 'you don't learn' or 'you never listen' look. This one was riddled with sympathy and somehow that just made her stomach churn, her throat tighten and her heart pound even more.

She looked away.

"He's on his way down," Father Caruso told her gentle.

Erin just nodded. She couldn't manage to speak. Not right now. Even though she knew she was going to have to speak soon. She just didn't know what to say. Not to Father Caruso. Not to Ethan.

She didn't want to be the one doing this to Ethan.

"He's just over in the Math Department," Caruso said. "This building. Close. He shouldn't be too long."

She allowed a little nod. "OK. Thanks," she managed at a near whisper.

Father Caruso let out a long sigh. "Erin, I just want to express again, that the hearts and prayers of the entire St. Igantius community are going out to your family right now. You have our deepest sympathies."

"Yea. Thanks," she managed again. Because she didn't know what more to say. That was such a Catholic thing for him to say. But she didn't know that they were a part of the St. Igantius community. Even though they'd all gone there. Even though it was what Camille wanted for the three ofthem. Even though Hank had wanted it to give his kids at least a solid foundation in their education. But that had never meant they belonged there. Not Erin. Not Justin. Not Ethan. And any apologies or sympathies now just seemed contrite.

Not that that was Father Caruso's fault. He'd always been nice to her. As nice as a principal can be when you're a problem child, she supposed. But she still wasn't that interested in hearing it from him. Not then. Not now. And she knew he could tell. His eyes just stuck on her. They felt heavy. Heavier than her whole being already felt.

"I could come with you to the hospital," he said. "If Hank or Justin's wife would like me to perform—"

"We aren't very religious," she blurted. Because she didn't want to hear the words 'last rites'. She didn't know how to wrap her head around it. She didn't know who she was going to be in that room – if Hank and Olive let her. And, even if they didn't, she didn't know how she could sit in the waiting room in the hospital or the car or back in the bullpen and wait for that call saying it was over. Done.

Everything was different. Changed. Again. And it was suffocating.

"OK," Father Caruso allowed evenly.

But she could tell there was mild disapproval to that statement. That she wasn't going to let him try to save Justin's soul one last time. The thing was right then – in the invetiable fall out that she knew was about to ravage both her families: the one she'd grown up with and the one on the job – it wasn't Justin who's soul needed saving. It'd be all of theirs. Like Hank the most. If prayer did any fucking good for anyone – right then – it was Hank who needed them. Not Justin. Maybe they should've been praying for him long ago.

"You can use my office if you like," he offered again, though. She glanced at him. "To talk to Ethan. I can stay with you, if you want."

She shook her head. "I'm not telling him here."

Father Caruso stared at her again. "Erin, I don't know what your father said to you, but I've known Hank a long time and I know he can … judicious about how he gives information. But, I think … Ethan needs to understand what his happening before you take him over to that hospital."

"His dad. The doctors. They can explain it to him," she said and set her eyes back on that divider. She knew the secretary was sitting on the opposite side – outside of her view, blocked from it – but eavesdropping like the nosey busybody spy she'd always been.

"Ethan's bright, Erin," Father Caruso said gently again. "He's going to see you're very upset. He's going to know something is going on. And, he's going to have questions. I don't think you should be fielding those while driving in a car."

"I'm not driving," she muttered but shook again as the door to the administration office opened and Ethan stopped in his tracks when he saw her sitting there.

He'd had a small smile on his face when he'd opened that door. It was the last week of the summer catch-up program at St. Igantius. The one that he'd done so well at despite complaining about and fighting with his dad about having to go. The one that the only way they'd struck a deal to get him to stop his posturing about it was to sign him up for the week-long programming camp at Field that he'd get to go to next week before spending the rest of his summer break getting to try every activity under the sun with the Rehab Institutes' summer camp. The summer camp he'd been so animatedly telling his brother about the night before and that Justin had actually listened and asked some questions that time without giving off that crippled, retarded, disabled vibe that he'd set into for nearly a year while he held Ethan at arm's length and attempted to wrap his head around his brother's illness.

But he'd been doing better. He'd pulled himself up. He wasn't perfect but he was finding his way. Slowly. He was trying to improve. He was still Justin. He still could be brash and have that chip on his shoulder and that swagger in his step. But he was still the Justin – the insecure little boy who wasn't a tough guy and wasn't his dad and wasn't a player, even though he'd tried so hard to be. Instead he'd had to find his own way – and had been working on that the hard. But it was his way and he'd been working on it. And he had top marks in his army training to prove it. He had admission into the army college program to prove it – putting him on track for Signal Corps and an officer's position. A real career. A career he was making for his wife and son – despite all his imperfections, he was trying to be a decent family man and husband. Even though he was still learning. He was still young. He was supposed to still have time to grow and mature into all of that.

It was so unfair. Because they'd all really been trying. Really trying. Since Ethan's party. Since Justin got to see Ethan play ball. Since they'd all settled into the reality that Justin and his family would be home in a couple months and they would all be in each other's lives again more regularly. They'd be a family. A real fucking family again. They needed to help each other. Even the parts that made each other uncomfortable. The ugly bits that maybe they didn't like so much. Because they all had some good. Their family was about the good, the bad, and the ugly. As long as it all came back to the truth.

And the truth was that Ethan likely thought he was coming into that office to pick up a note for his dad that confirmed he'd done well enough during the catch-up sessions that he couldn't have to be held back at all, that he wasn't going to have some assessment and meetings to readjust his IEP. That they could keep moving forward within the boundaries they'd established for him. Either that, or he thought he was getting that signed form from the school that the Field needed when he checked in next week to program his dinosaur videogame. A notion that he'd also been blabbering about the other night – most intently to Henry who just kept looking at him with big eyes and chewing on the dinosaur toys that Ethan let him near. It was a special night. Henry hadn't even been snapped at about slobbering all over Indominus. That was likely his real birthday present from his uncle.

But that smile faded so quickly when he saw her there. When he saw her eyes, which she knew were watery. But she'd tried and tried to get them to stop. To ice them over and to turn to steel. She couldn't make them do it, though. The tears just kept stinging until they pushed the surface and she fought to wipe them away before they could leave streaks down her cheeks.

"What's wrong? Is Dad OK?" he asked in panicked staccato.

It made the tears there at the surface string more. One fell, trailing down her face and she reached up to wipe it away as she opened her mouth to try to find words for this talk that she hadn't been prepared for. So she nodded to give herself a moment. To try to compose herself. To try to hide the sadness that she knew he was going to hear even more in her voice.

"Hank's—"

"Dad," Ethan spat at her in correction. "You always call him that. He's not. He's dad! He's your dad too."

She gave him a thin, sad smile while her lip quivered. "Daddy's OK, Magoo," she managed but looked down to her wringing hands again as the tears pushed out even more.

She'd thought for a split second about saying that Hank was fine. But he wasn't fine. He wasn't going to be fine for a long time. If ever. She didn't know if he could come back from this. Could any of them come back from this? Even saying "Daddy's OK" seemed like a stretch. He wasn't OK either. But at least he wasn't physical maimed.

Ethan cautiously took a step toward her, seeing her tears. Because she wasn't hiding them now. It just wasn't working. She glanced at her brother with his movement. She was scaring him. She could tell.

She should've worked out in her head how this conference would go. How she could manage to respond. She'd just wanted to get him in the car. To get him to Med. To Hank. Let Hank explain it. The doctors. People who knew how. Because she didn't know how to say this to her baby brother. She never thought she'd be the one to have to. Maybe about his dad. Not about his brother.

"We're going to go for a drive," she nodded at him.

His face fell again and his movement stilled. He was like a statue. "That's what you said when you took me to boarding school," he whispered.

A sob wracked her body at that. It choked her with the reality of that statement and she shook her head hard and held out her arm until she found his hand and gripped it tightly.

"We're just going to the hospital," she assured, though she knew it wasn't very reassuring. "Your Uncle Alvin is waiting for us outside."

The color in Ethan's face drained even more and she could see him trying fiercely to process. She could see his eyes darting to Father Caruso and the secretary's desk. Presences she could still feel too but had all but been ignoring because her body felt so heavy she wasn't sure she even knew how to get up out of the chair.

"But you said Dad's OK …" Ethan stated more than asked – and he seemed to direct it at Father Caruso more than her.

Her puffy, bloodshot, watering eyes shifted slightly to the priest. And he gave her that look – the one that said she had to do this now. That it was going to be her. It wasn't going to be Hank. That Hank couldn't be there right now. That Hank wasn't the one here little brother was going to hear this from first. And she needed to figure out how to do that. How to get Ethan through these next 40 minutes until she got him to the hospital. Really how to get him through more than that – weeks, months, years. Because this was going to be Camille all over again. Hank was going to disappear. He was going to check out. And this time he didn't have a little boy in a hospital bed to be some kind of anchor to keep him in reality. To keep him from self-destructing. And Erin wasn't sure that Ethan and her and Olive and Henry were going to be enough to do that for him. She wasn't sure he'd let. Because she'd seen what this had done to their family before. And it'd fractured them as badly as it fractured Ethan's head. The scars were all over them just as much as they were on Ethan's body. And it'd just been in the past few months – with Ethan finally home and Justin finally growing up and them finally finding a rhythm and pace to deal with health care and child care and the job – that things had finally started to feel like maybe they were normal again. That they'd found their new normal – and they'd rediscovered their family in it.

But now there was this. And it was different. And it was devastating. And it was catastrophic. And it definitely wasn't normal. It wasn't ever going to be normal again. Not even their new normal. Not now. Not ever.

Father Caruso gave her a little nod. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to be encouraging. But it at least encouraged her to look away from him and grab both hands of her brother, tugging on them until he stood in front of her and looked away from his principal and back to her.

"Dad's OK," she tried but her voice quivered.

Ethan gazed at her. She could feel his heart pounding even through his finger tips that were pressing so tightly into her hands they were creating white marks.

"Then why are you crying? You almost never cry."

Another sob caught in her throat and she tried to pull her one hand away from him to wipe at her tears but he wouldn't let her. They were both going to be each other's anchors in that moment.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself yet again. "Your Dad's at the hospital. With Olive. And we're going to meet them there."

Ethan squinted at her. "Did Henry hit his head on the coffee table like Dad kept saying he was going to?"

She gave him a sad smile. She'd gotten Henry a popper. He'd loved it. His parents not so much with all the noise the popping little plastic balls made as he zoomed around the main floor of the house with it. It'd already been threatened that it was a toy that would be staying at Auntie Erin's or Popa's house after they got back in little more than a month. Popa hadn't been in agreement on it ending up at his house because he'd been in a bit of a tizzy about Henry's still unsteady gait that managed to drive him about a hundred miles an hour. Hank was just waiting for him to end up with too much velocity that sent him tripping over his feet and flying right into something. He'd seemed pretty convinced it was going to end up being the coffee table in the front room – to the point he'd picked it up and moved it into his den – setting it on top of his wooden storage bin. Only then Henry thought it was a jungle gym and was still bound and determined to get at it. So it'd been moved back to its proper place while Hank restlessly watched him on his run in circles, standing and blocking his potential impact with the table every time he roared through the room. Henry just giggled and giggled. He likely thought Popa was playing with him – not that Popa was nearing an anxiety attack about something as simple as a potential bump to the head. But at least they were both getting their exercise.

She almost wished it was a nasty bump and maybe a couple stitches for her little nephew. She'd feel bad for him. But it wouldn't feel as bad as this. It wouldn't even compare.

So she shook her head again. "No, Ethan. Henry's fine. He's with your Dad and Olive."

"Where's Justin?" Ethan asked scrutinizing her.

She frowned at him and tugged at his hands again. "Sit down," she urged, trying to gesture with their joined hands to the empty seat next to her.

"No," Ethan protested firmly but in a way that sounded more like a painful yowl. "Where's J, Erin?"

The tears stung more and she fought with all her might to keep them from turning into all-out waterworks. "Ethan something happened this morning—"

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Your brother got hurt—"

"HOW?" Ethan barked at her, now dropping his hands away from hers but she scrambled to take them back and gripped at them just as tightly as he had been, even though he now fought against her. "He's not at work. He's not on base. He's here. We're going to the Cubs tonight. With Dad. It's Henry's first game!"

Erin gave her head a little shake as the tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. "We aren't going to the Cubs tonight, Ethan," she said. "You're brother got really hurt. And he had to go to the hospital. He's been in surgery all morning."

"WHAT?!" Ethan demanded. "What happened? How'd he get hurt?"

Her heart was pounding and her chest was so tight she didn't know how she was even speaking, let alone breathing. It was all just echoing in her ears. Her hands felt clammy but her biceps and the top of her back – the skin just felt on fire. The rest of her just felt raw.

What happened? How'd he get hurt? Why did he get hurt? Why did this happen? She didn't know any of those answers. She didn't even want to attempt to explain the half-answers that she only felt like she a quarter-knew to her little brother. She couldn't.

"His head got really hurt," she managed.

Ethan stopped. He was that statue again. So much so that she thought she saw some of the light flick out of his eyes. The same little death that she'd watch set into Hank's eyes. The one she'd felt set into hers. And now they were staring at her through the sockets of his little boy, who wasn't so little anymore but was still the baby. The baby brother who was supposed to have a big brother and a big sister to protect him and look after him. And her and Justin both just kept on failing at that.

"Was he in a car crash?" Ethan asked quietly.

She shook her head and tugged at his hands again and this time managed to get him to sit in the seat next to her. "No, Ethan …"

"Then … what …?" he asked.

"He was shot," she said flatly. She almost felt some surprise at how flatly it came out. Because as real as it was, it didn't quite feel real. This couldn't quite be real. They'd been through too much. Hank had been through too much. They couldn't do this. They'd already done it. They weren't supposed to be doing it again.

"In the head?" Ethan asked with some confused dismay. He gaped at her.

"In the head," she allowed in quiet agreement. "And the doctors are saying the surgery didn't go very well and that Justin isn't doing very well."

She saw Ethan's eyes glass at that and his lip quivered as now it was him who was trying to find words as the reality set in.

"Well … I had to have lots of surgeries," he sputtered. "Fifteen. So they'll just have to try again."

She gave him a weak smile and reached to cup at his cheek, she could see he was struggling to control his tears too. "You were hurt all over, Ethan," she said gently. "Justin's just hurt in his head. His brain. It's different."

"No!" Ethan's voice cracked as he yelled it at her.

Her tears fell harder. "Yes, Ethan. And the doctors are saying that Justin's not coming back. He's not going to wake up."

"I WAS IN A COMA FOR THREE WEEKS!" Ethan screamed with such force that Erin sat back slightly before curling her fingers around his surviving ear and brushing at the hair on the back of his neck in an effort to calm him. "I WOKE UP! They thought I wasn't going to wake up. Dad says so. You too. They told you. They told you I might die. But I didn't. You say it's a miracle. IT'S A MIRACLE! IT'S HOW YOU TELL THE STORY! IT'S A MIRACLE!"

She nodded at him, though she could barely see him through the tears now. Her vision was blurred and stinging with the salt of the tears. "You are our family's miracle," she agreed quietly. "But Justin's head got hurt differently, Ethan. It's different. And he's not going to be a miracle."

"NO!" he jerked and stood and glared at her with eyes so glassy. His chin was quivering he was fighting so hard not to sob.

She shakily made herself stand and put her hands on his shoulders. "Eth, he's hurt so bad that even if there was a miracle and he did wake up, he's not going to recognize us. He's not going to be able to talk."

"SO?!" he spat. "I had to learn to talk again. I didn't recognize any of you. J was last. He was the LAST ONE I remembered," and the tears started. "He was the last and he's always …." Erin pulled him to her and held him tightly as he body rattled against hers with his sobs. "That's always bugged him."

She let out her out sob at that and rubbed her cheek against the top of his head. "He knows you remember him," she told him. "We're going to see him and you can tell him again. But he knows."

"He can learn, Erin," Ethan cried. "He'll remember."

She just held him tighter. "Olive and Daddy have already decided, Eth," she whispered. "He's not coming back. So we're going to go say goodbye."

"No," Ethan whimpered and buried his face in her chest.

"Yes," she said firmly – firmer than she thought she could manage. But she gripped at his shoulder and placed her mouth on his crown. "It's going to be OK," she whispered.

But she felt like she was lying to him. She didn't think it was going to be OK. Not now. Likely not ever again.


	2. Not OK

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 **This is a collection of one-shots/scenes using the characters as represented in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes. The chapters currently represent scenes happening immediately after Justin's death in S3 finale. It will then span into S4.**

 **However, as I continue to update, they'll just provide one-shot snap shots into the characters' lives and likely some recasts of scenes from the show. This story is inspired by and influenced by canon in the series but it does not follow exactly and focuses more on personal lives than cases and will often deal with story arcs and plot arcs of the characters previously established in other stories in this AU.**

 **This series focuses on Voight and his remaining family, as well as Erin Lindsay's growing relationship with Jay Halstead.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER COMES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY THE CHAPTER CALLED QUARTER ANSWERS IN SCENES, as well as immediately after the S3 finale of the show.**

Jay sat gazing at Eth. Trying to figure out something to say. Anything really. But he also knew that the kid didn't really want him to talk. That there wasn't anything in that moment that he could come up with that was going to offer him any sort of condolenscences. And nothing he said was likely to save him from the way his life was about to complete fly apart either. That it was likely all going to go to shit.

Voight was off the leash. He'd blown off the handle. He'd crossed lines that Jay didn't want to have witnessed – even though he already knew what Voight was capable. He'd seen just how far he'd go – what kind of lines he was willing to cross – before. But that time – he'd stopped. He'd talked him into stopping. This time, though, he didn't think that was what had happened.

Not with Voight not showing up at the house he'd clearly purposely sent them to. Not with Erin just dropping off the line with him and never calling him. Not with her just sending him a text that said, "Go get, Eth. Now." Not with how long she'd disappeared. Not with Voight not reappearing at the District. Not with those knowing looks in everyone's eyes. Because they all knew.

hey knew what kind of man Voight was. But maybe they didn't know what kind of man he was now. Maybe they'd hoped they could delude themselves into thinking he was more or better. That his grey areas weren't that grey. That he didn't operate that far outside the lines. That there were lines that even he wouldn't cross. Because he was a cop, a man, a husband – a father.

But the thing was he was a father. And he'd just lost a kid. He hadn't lost a kid. His son – no matter who or what Justin was – had been murdered. Not just murdered. He'd been executed. He'd had a gun put against the back of his head at close range. And the trigger was pulled. He was bound with barbed wire and left to die in a trunk of a car abandoned under an unused underpass.

That was cold. That was the kind of thing that made you colder. The kind of thing that never left you – no matter who it was was in that trunk. It made you think differently. It made you act differently. It made your throughts and actions get all fucked up.

Jay knew. He'd been there. He'd seen things. He'd done things.

But he wanted to think this – this … what everyone suspected – wasn't something that he'd do. Not as a cop. In this city. On this job. In this country.

That's not who he was. That's not who they were supposed to be.

But he'd never lost a child. Not one he'd created and brought into the world and raised and saved more than once.

So he was trying not to judge. Not to compare. But that was asking a lot. A whole fucking lot. And he knew they were going to be forced to take sides. Their loyalties – to Voight, to Intelligence, to CPD, to Chicago, to each other – it was going to be fucking tested. And they were all going to have to fall somewhere.

The question was: Where was he going to fall? Who's side was he going to be on? And just what the hell … or who … was he going to lose in the process? What sacrifices would he make to stand by his own morals and his own code? Just what was his right and wrong going to be? And was he going to move back into a grey area that he'd hoped he'd never have to go into again. Not here. Not in this country. Not back home.

And where was Erin going to fall? That was the biggest question of all. Closely followed by: What would that mean for this relationship? If they were on opposite sides of the line. If their morals lined up differently. If they couldn't find some sort of intersect in their Venn diagram. Their grey areas didn't merge. Their rights and wrongs weren't the same.

Or hers was too heavily influenced by Voight. And what she thought she owed to him. And the lengths she'd go to protect him.

And what was all of that – Voight, Justin, Erin, him – going to mean to this kid sitting down the couch staring glassy eyed and blankly at the ongoing episodes of Battlestar Galactica. A show with too much violence and too much sex and too much vulgarity and swearing for the Voight who lived at home – who was a father then … in the past – to allow in his house. But one that Jay had been sneakily watching – or re-watching – with the kid when Eth was over at his place. Having his mind jogged in the realization of just how much sex and violence and swearing there actually was. And having to field uncomfortable questions about some of the scenes and storylines and subplots. Including about a brother who'd died and a father-daughter relationship that looked maybe a little too similar – and confusing – to the one that he saw at home.

It all made him wish that he'd never started watching the show with Eth. But it really made him wish they were watching something else now. Not that either of them was really watching. They were just sitting there. Waiting. Though, at that point, Jay wasn't really sure what exactly it was they were waiting for. He did know, though, that he wasn't going to stop checking his phone – every 10 seconds – until Erin called him back or appeared. Until he knew what had happened. For sure.

Not that he thought he needed confirmation. He'd seen enough to know enough.

And he knew how Voight had dealt with this before.

He had sought out the news articles and the 'open' files about the killer of Voight's wife. He'd seen how Voight had acted when a man connected to the case had resurfaced last summer. He'd seen the lengths Voight had gone to when Justin had got himself in a predicament that would send him to jail. He'd seen what strings Voight had pulled to bury the case and more when Justin got caught up in a mess – as a murder accomplice himself – in the months after he was released. He'd seen the guns pulled and the shots fired and the extremities threatened to be cut off and faces burned and what perps looked like after Voight went down to visit them in the cage.

He only needed so much of a rundown from Erin. And at the same time, he knew that Erin wouldn't give him one. Not a complete one. No matter how much she trusted him – because she'd be trying to protect him. When right now, he knew it was going to be her who needed protection.

That the hammer was going to be coming down around all of them. Hard. Chips were going to be falling. That there were going to be big changes. And now it was just a waiting game to see if that meant implosion or explosion. But either way, he doubted that all of them – or maybe any of them – were going to come away intact from this.

That they wouldn't all still have their star on their hip. They wouldn't be in Intelligence. Or on the job. And some of them might end up behind bars by the time this was said and done. If something like this was ever said and done. This sort of thing had a trickle effect. It wasn't just what it did to your career. It was what it did to your inner person. And fixing the kinds of things that something like this broke inside wasn't really something that happened. Or at least it wasn't some sort of easy fix that Jay had figured out yet. Some scars never heal. Some things haunt you for the rest of your life. If you keep on living it.

"We can watch something else, you know," he told Eth with a glance. "Jurassic Park? Star Wars?"

"This is good," Eth mumbled, not even looking at him. Not even a glance.

But Eth had hardly looked at him. Not when he'd gone to pick him up. At Voight's house. Where Olive looked like a zombie and Henry had caught on to enough of what was going on – the instability and sadness – that he was fussing and she looked like she wasn't in a position to handle it. But she also wasn't in a position to be in that house – surrounded by ghosts of her husband's childhood – and with Eth there and looking like a zombie. So he'd done what Erin had said. He'd retrieved Eth and he'd taken him to his place – gently trying to suggest to Olive that maybe it'd be better if she went over to her aunt's place that first night. Because she likely didn't want to be there when whatever it was that Voight now was rolled in. But he'd left it at that. Because – Olive, Henry – they weren't his responsibility.

Was Ethan? Maybe not. Maybe less so now. But he couldn't leave the kid alone in this. Because he knew what it was like to lose a mother. He knew what it was like to see your family falter. Because he knew what it was like to see people die in horrible ways. What it was like to have your world shaken as a kid. And just shaken over and over and over again like you lived in a fucking snow globe.

And Eth definitely had spent half his life in that snow globe. Going through upset after upset. The bullshit just piling up. And just when things had started to feel like they were at the point where they were going to be as normal as the fucking Voight family could possibly get – this happened. When they thought they didn't have to worry about Justin being called up and sent to theater – to be shipped out and put in combat – at least not for another three years … and this happened.

And he knew – more than he wanted to – that for Erin to tell him to go and get Eth, that something where she was had happened. That she'd seen something. Witnessed something. And now she was trying to get in front of it. That this was about protecting her baby brother – the shreds of a family – she had left before Voight found a way to kill that too.

So he'd gone. He'd gotten Ethan and sat with him in this endless silence where they couldn't even look at each other but could hardly look at the screen or sit still either.

But Jay kept trying. He kept trying to take in this story on the screen. To find some sort of distraction there. To stop looking at his phone. To stop fidgeting. To surpress the need to be back at District and hearing what everyone was saying. Dawson advising them to hold on for the ride real tight. Olinsky advising them in quiet ways to keep their mouths shut without actually saying it. Ruzek and Atwater acting like their heads had been spun around like tops and it wasn't clear where they were going to land. Platt lurking in the stairwell and behind the desk with that sullen look and Crowley pacing like some sort of caged animal waiting for Voight to reappear.

If he was smart – and he was smart – he wouldn't go back there tonight. If he was smart – and he was smart – he'd be trying to clean up his mess and trail.

What he was afraid of was that Erin's lack of presence at the 21st – her lack of presence here – just meant that was what she was doing too. And that meant she was just digging herself a hole. And it might not be one that Jay was going to be able to pull her out of. Not this time. This one might be her grave. And that was a thought he couldn't stand. He couldn't stand to sit there feeling that.

He shifted. He was going to get up. He was going to step into the bathroom and call her phone again. Leave her another message. Beg her to call him or to come over. Now.

But before he was able to pull himself to his feet, Eth managed, "Did Justin get shot because of Dad?"

Jay stopped - mid-propel – and let his ass settle back into the cushions on the sofa. He gazed at Eth but all he saw was that mangled, bunch of skin that used to be an area. That marked reminder of what had happened previously in Voight's life – what he'd gone through and how he'd dealt with it – sitting right there.

"We're still investigating," Jay managed – carefully – because he didn't really want to say and he didn't want to talk about open investigations and he didn't want to lie to the kid, because Eth was smart too and he'd smell bullshit. "But, it didn't have anything to do with your dad. It looks like Justin just got caught up with some bad people when he was trying to help a friend."

Eth gave him a small glance. "An Army friend?"

Jay shrugged and again weighed the best way to answer. "The wife of an Army friend who died a while ago."

Eth's eyes set on him – absorbing that, measuring it. But then he turned back to the screen and stared at it more blankly. "I thought if Justin was doing to die now, it'd be because they sent him to war."

Jay let out a slow breath and shook his head. "Sometimes bad things happen," he said. "People die."

Eth's eyes moved back to him. They were so empty looking. That life that was usually there – this spark of boyhood still left him – was gone. They were just dead. Tired and rimmed red and sunken. The glass over them just made them look more unfeeling. But what could you ask a thirteen year old to feel about this?

The kid was in shock. He'd already lost so much. He'd had to be at the hospital as his brother was taken off life support. He'd had to heard those beeps diminish until they flat-lined and that long dash echoed in the room. To see someone die in front of him – at thirteen. His older brother. While his sister-in-law and father and sister stood there in their own states of hysteria while trying to hide their tears and be strong – because that's the kind of people they were. They dug deep and they buried deep. And now Eth was trying to do that too.

And he was likely burying himself in the process.

Jay knew how to do that. He knew what it was like to do that at thirteen. And he knew that once you were in that pit, you spent a lifetime trying to claw your way out of it. And even if you ever did reach the top, he suspected you just stood at the edge staring back down into it and remembering what was at the bottom. Still feeling the darkness and the blackness and the dampness and the cold all around you – even though you weren't down that hole anymore.

Some holes you couldn't pull yourself out of. And sometimes when you'd spent your life trying to climb out of it and just kept slipping and falling back down – you eventually lost your strength to make the climb again. You just slide down to the bottom and sat there. Waiting for something to give you the strength to dig your finger nails into the dirt again and to drag yourself up.

You had to hope that people didn't forget about you while you were down there. That maybe people would come to the edge and give you a hand. They'd reach down and pull you out. But sometimes you waited a long time for people to realize that you needed them to do that for you. And if all Eth had was Erin and Voight – right now, it looked like he might be waiting a while for those hands up.

So Jay had to make sure it wasn't just them reaching down to this kid. But at the same time, he really didn't know how. Especially when it meant looking into eyes that looked like his that night. Not when this was Erin's brother and Voight's youngest son. The last biological piece of his wife – his sanity – left.

But then his door flew open – without a knock – and Erin was there. Her eyes as red-rimmed as Ethan's and her face still streaked with dried tears. She looked scattered and exhausted. Devastated in more ways than Jay could count. And she didn't look stable and she didn't look all there.

Her eyes didn't even set on him. They went right to her brother and she came over to the couch, sitting next to him, and pulling him to her in a tight hug. A hug that wasn't returned. Eth pulled away and squinted at her.

"Where were you?" he asked with an edge. "You're all wet."

Erin gazed at the sleeves of her coat and reached to slosh off some of the surplus rain droplets – swiping her hands down each side. "Work," she said. "Outside. It's raining."

Ethan squinted at her more. "Where's Dad?" he demanded.

"Work," she said, finally casting Jay a look. It was a question of her own. Maybe a hope. But Jay shook his head. Voight wasn't at District. At least not when he'd left and if Erin hadn't just come from being with him, he now had even more questions about where she was and what she'd been doing.

"Why's Dad working tonight?" Eth spat at her. "He shouldn't be working tonight. He should be home. We all should."

"Daddy's trying to find out what happened to J, Eth. He's working really hard to fast-track this investigation before the case gets cold," she said. Jay knew it was an answer full of half-truths.

Because he also knew what had happened when Browning had never ended up back at District. And he knew that Erin said there'd only been that brief period where Voight had left Eth's bedside after his wife was killed and his son was left a mangled mess and in a coma. While Eth hung on the edge of life and death and Voight dangled over his own edge – and presumably took a plunge, even if no one had ever been able to peg that to him.

"So we're going to go stay with Uncle Alvin tonight," she said, casting Jay another look. One that said, she didn't want Voight to find them. Not that night. That she didn't want to be near him. Or he didn't want to be near them. And that this apartment was too close for comfort. That her condo wasn't an option. That maybe Al's would be good enough. But, Jay thought it would be on the list of places Voight would look for them, if that was what was going on. So maybe Erin was working on the assumption that if Voight did go looking for them there, Al would be able to talk him down – and off – of whatever edge he was hanging on. To try to talk sense and reason. To tell him not tonight, not now, not this time. Like with Pulpo – when Jay's arguments to Voight – when Antonio's wishes – weren't enough.

"Why isn't Uncle Al helping Dad close the case?" Eth pressed back at her.

She gave him a warning look and raised off the couch, her arm tightening around Ethan's elbow and pulling it upward with her, though he stayed planted on the sofa.

"Ethan, we're going," she said.

Her brother jerked away from her and glared. "No," he said. "I want to finish this episode and then I want to go home. To Bear. And Dad. We should be at home."

"Ethan," she warned again but there was a pounding knock at the door and all their eyes shifted there.

"Halstead," was rasply bellowed from the other side.

Ethan gave Erin a look and moved to pull his crippled body upward himself. But now Erin nudged him back down, her eyes drilling into him as he landed on the sofa and she gave Jay a look – a demand of stay put – while she went to the door.

Jay watched as she opened it a crack – Voight's weathered face glaring at her with pointed chin.

"Got Ethan here?" he graveled at her. She didn't answer. She stood there rigidly. "Erin," he warned and she still didn't budge. "I'm here to get my son. Now."

"You aren't taking him, Hank," she pressed back, only for his hand to come up to the edge of the door and to try to push it wider open against her grip.

It was enough for Jay to pop to his feet but she heard his movement and cast him another warning look. Her eyes shifted back to Voight and she let the door open more but stepped in front of him – blocking his entrance and invading his space to the point he got the message that she was coming in the hall and he laid off a couple inches, letting her come out and pull the door closed behind her.

Him and Eth sat staring at the door. Watching. Listening. And through the thin walls of the dated building, they could hear enough.

"You aren't taking him, Hank," Erin pressed again.

"He's my son," Voight graveled back. "He is coming home with me."

"No," she said. "He's not. I'm keeping-"

"He's my son," Voight raised his voice with a growing rage. "You don't get to dictate—"

"Hank, he's never seen you like this," Erin spat back at him. "He can't see you like this. Be around you like this."

"You don't get to dictate my relationship with my son," he ignored her interruption.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you were like this?" she near yelled at him. "What it did to him? To our family? We can't do that again. We can't go through that again. You can't put him through that again. He needs you, Hank. You can't go to—"

"He is coming home with me," he barked at her.

"You will scare him," she yelled right back. "This isn't the father he's gotten to know. It's not how he sees you—"

And suddenly before Jay even realized it, Eth was up and off the couch – moving faster and less awkwardly than he'd ever seen him move in the more than year he'd gotten to know the kid and watched what M.S. had done to try to cripple him.

Jay bolted to his feet too. "Ethan," he warned, reaching to grab his shoulder – to stop his pursuit. But Eth jerked away, casting him a scowl that was a precise as that of his father's. And he let him go.

He watched as Eth went to the door and yanked it open – staring at his sister and father. Both batter and haggard and wet – though the dampness did nothing to hid the telltale signs that they'd spent much of the night crying. Their bloodshot eyes, and red-rims and the continued glassiness. That it looked like more tears would begin pouring out of their eyes any second.

"I'm not scared of him," Ethan sputtered. His tone was firm but his voice cracked. He gazed at his clearly heart-broken – and broken – dad but then shifted his eyes to his sister. "I'm not scared of him," he reaffirmed. "I want to go home. With Dad. To my house and my dog and my bed. I'm supposed to be home. I want to go home."

Erin just stared at him. Erin the smart-mouth, bad ass, sasser seemed unable to form an argument. But Jay could see her sputtering trying to come up with something – anything. Much like he'd spent the past hours trying to come up with something – anything – to say to Eth and had come away with nothing.

Before she could find words – any words – Hank had reached out and gripped at his son's shoulder. And this was a grip that Ethan allowed. Letting his dad pull him closer to him, resting his own shoulder against the man while they both stared at Erin. Voight's look getting softer but still firm in the reality that he was going to do what he wanted. His way. The way it would always be.

"I'll be OK," Ethan told her softly.

Jay could see her eyes swelling more. Her lip trembling. But she allowed a nod.

"You should come too," Eth offered. "We should be home."

Erin, though, just shook her head and allowed a whispered, "No", while her and Voight held eyes. As they had some sort of silent conversation about their family and their status and their relationship and whatever had happened that night.

Eth watched it. He stared but he didn't interrupt. He didn't add further argument or encouragement. He only allowed an almost indescribable nod. And Voight, twisted him slightly, nudging him forward.

"C'mon, Magoo," he rasped.

And Erin stood there watching their retreat. Watching and watching. So long that she must've stood there until the elevator had come and gone. Her shoulders struggling to keep steady and her lip shaking to the point she bit against it.

And then she finally stepped back in the apartment. Her back against the wall. And her fist pounded it at her side.

"FUCK," she cried out.

And she really did cry. The tears streaming down her face, as a sob wracked over her body to the point it shuttered and she crumpled to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest, as she choked silently on the tears that could no longer be held back.

Jay moved over to her, pulling the door closed and slid down next to her, pulling her close to him, wrapping his one arm around her, as she buried her face against his chest.

"It's going to be OK," he tried to assure her – even though he knew he shouldn't. Because they both knew he was lying to her. And he didn't like doing that. He never did that.

"No, it's no," she rattled.

And she was right. It wouldn't. Maybe it never would be again.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: So I am still going to be working on finishing up Scenes, so make sure you're still checking it. This will basically be Scenes the Sequel. Like that story, it won't necessarily be done chronologically. Where the chapter/scene fits in order of sequences and the story will be posted at the top of each chapter and then within 3-10 days the chapter will be re-ordered to the appropriate place in the story.**

 **These scenes will take place around Justin's death and it's immediate aftermath. It will then deal with some aspects of S4 after we see what direction they're going with that in terms of characters. As soon as we see that, I'll start redefining how that will direct the stories and arcs happening with the characters in this AU. So basically the story will still deal with issues and plots introduced in Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes but it will be done through some lens and education on how the canon of the series is directed in S4 and inspired by how these characters might react and interact with the death of Justin given the issues the family is already dealing with within this AU. But it will draw on some aspects of S4 and the S3 finale.**

 **Hopefully that's clear.**

 **Again — I'm still working on Scenes. I need to finish up the miscarriage arc, the cabin arc and some things leading up to Henry's birthday and Justin's death, as well as a few scattered chapters I hoped/want to cover set in the time period of Scenes.**

 **This will likely be the only Aftermath chapter added until after the premiere os S4 (though, it's possible one more original will be added and I'm also considering moving the chapter Quarter Answers from Scenes over to this story as Chapter 1).**

 **However, after I start writing/updating this, I will likely jump back and forth depending on where the inspiration is in a given moment. So you might want to make sure you're following both stories or following me as an author to make sure you see the updates.**

 **And as always, your feedbacks, reviews and comments are much appreciated.**


	3. Never Forget

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank just stared at the ceiling of Ethan's … Justin's … both his boys' … room. Supposed there weren't too many remnants of his oldest in there anymore. Hadn't been for a while. It'd been purposeful. His push to get his son to grow up. To get him booted out of the house. Fly the nest. Be a man.

Slowly gotten boxed away. Then those boxes had moved to the attic and basement after Ethan really came home. Make some real room for the kid. Make the place his own. But that night, he thought he would've liked if there was a bit more of his oldest boy in that room.

Supposed he could torture himself and go dig out some of the boxes. Reclaim shit. Set it out. Or decide what really needed to be put away – because it was just too much to look at. Just like he'd had to put away so many of the photos after Camille was gone.

Wouldn't be photographs in those boxes, though. Not likely. Wasn't sure what was left that he'd want out. That he'd have some sort of attachment to. Or that maybe he should be giving to Olive or Henry or saving for when Henry was older. Maybe there were things Ethan or Erin would want too. Pieces of their brother. Pieces of his son.

But Justin had put a lackluster effort into going through some of the boxes when him and Olive were getting moved on Base. Had claimed some of the things have still had any sort of real meaning to him or attachment to. Mostly had been some local sports team paraphernalia. Representing Chi-Town down on Base. Had filled a box or two of things that he didn't want to get rid of but didn't seem too keen on bringing it to take up space in their small house at Fort Campbell either. Leave it at the Storage Center of Mom and Dad. Maybe he should at least look in those ones. If Justin had even labeled them to find them easily. See what his son had really kept a hold of.

There were some other boxes but Hank knew too that he'd tossed a lot after Justin had had his chance to go through it all. Thought he'd had his chance. Didn't need all sorts of random childhood culture and toys and sentimental value taking up space in their house either. Not when his son was in his twenties. But he found himself wishing that he'd waited another year or two to make that toss. That some of that junk he'd be looking at a little differently now.

At least there were some traces in there. The wooden bed frame – even if this was the "big boy" bed that had been assigned to Eth after they'd graduated him out of the crib and got him the fuck out of his and Cami's room. That battered old student desk and bookshelf that was too small to do much of anything on now that computers were a thing. And it was covered in pen and pencil and mark that had never been properly cleaned off it. Dried bits of glue and painting from when Justin hadn't fuckin' taking the time to put down a sheet of newspaper before working on one of his models – cars, airplanes, helicopters, motorcycles. He'd had a whole fucking collection growing up. Lot of them had likely been in the boxes that got tossed? Because what the fuck was he supposed to do with them? Just keep letting them collect dust on the shelves. It was little diecasts that lined that shelf now. Most of it was E's growing collection but there were treasured ones – real worn and torn – inherited from Justin's collection too.

Etchings were dug into the wood of the desk with scissors and pocket knives and Xacto knives. Little notches of Justin tallying off his latest grounding. Made it look like he'd spent a lot of his childhood grounded. Supposed he did. Fucking little hellion after he hit about Grade 8. Then there was fuckin' 'fuck' engraved into it. That move had earned him some more notches for his grounding tally. His initials. Voight could almost still see those craters from him digging out the letters over and over again – deeper and deeper – from across the room in the dark. Proof his son had been there. Had lived there. Had lived.

But what he was really looking at – staring at – were those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. They'd been a compromise. Justin had refused to have a nightlight in the room after E had to move in there. Was just having none of it. But they'd settled on those stars and moons and planets. Made a real project out of it. Planets placed up in the night sky where they should be. Stars formed into constellations. Had been a real pain in the neck to get it done. But had been time with his son. Had likely been a job that Hank didn't feel much like doing. Had likely been in a period that him and J were on the outs. But still remembered spending that afternoon working on it with him. Been good. Even if they'd both gotten frustrated as fuck with each other. But when did they not?

Had glowed real bright when they first got the damn things up there. But they were real faded now. Little specs of pale green up above him. But better to leave it than bother trying to take them down. That'd likely be a bigger project to get it all cleaned up than it had been trying to get the things to stick.

So he just stared at them.

That was about all he was capable of anyway. Didn't want to think. Didn't want to start digging. Couldn't think anymore that night. Maybe he should be. Knew he needed to be on his toes come morning. For days and weeks and months to come. But right now he just felt numb. And somehow he was grateful for that. For now.

And all his mind kept going to was wanting to get his hands on his little grandson. To hold Henry close. Hug him. Kiss him. Smell him. Comfort him.

Not that H was old enough to understand any of this. Be too young to remember. But didn't mean his grandbaby wasn't going to grow up with a giant gaping hole in his life. That there'd be questions. There'd be anger. That this absence – the loss of his father – was something that was going to haunt him for the rest of his life in some way.

But at least he was little. At least it wasn't when Henry was seven or eight and Justin ended up dying in some foreign land for God and country and whatever patriotic or duty bullshit that they all managed to buy into. That you had to buy into to survive. To have meaning. To make meaning. To keep going. To do the job.

At least H didn't have to cope with this in the here and now. To try to understand and not understand. Because this wasn't understandable. Not any of it. Not any fucking part of it.

At least he was too little to be asking questions. Or to be placing blame.

He didn't want to imagine H having to deal with this as a little boy. The thing was, though, he could imagine. He knew what it'd done to his own little boy – and E couldn't even remember the days and weeks and months of the aftermath of the loss. But he knew the loss was there. He felt it. He still cried for his mom and missed his mom and asked after his mom. He asked a whole lot of questions about what happened to his mom. And that was a little seven year old, brain damaged boy who'd just come out of a coma.

Now he had that same little boy laying next to him. So still. And he wasn't seven anymore. He was thirteen. He wasn't so little anymore. And Hank feared that this might've knocked out the last of the little that was left in him. Because he knew what losing someone did to him at fifteen and he knew what it'd done to J at seventeen. And now he needed to protect him from himself. From spinning out of control. To stay grounded and in reality. To be stable and functional and secure.

The thing was, though, Eth was old enough now that he understood a whole lot more about what was going on. Even though none of it was understandable. None of it was something his son should have to try to understand and deal with again. His little boy had already been through too much. They'd all been through too fucking much. And it was supposed to be getting better.

It hadn't. It was a fucking disaster. A fucking gaping canyon in front of them.

And – this time, too, Hank knew Magoo would have a whole lot more, and a whole lot different, questions. And he didn't know how to answer any of them. How to cope with any of them.

He didn't know how to do this now without damaging his relationship with his child. Again. How to drag them through this. To make them still be the same – because that wasn't fucking realistic. To try to save what was left of his family.

His fucking torn to pieces family.

Him and Erin?

He just … didn't know. Not with the way she was looking at him right now. Talking to him. Talking to each other. Not with how he was feeling. Not with how she was feeling. No with how things had gone that night. What she'd seen and hadn't seen. She shouldn't have fucking followed him. She should've known better.

So what did any of that mean? Was he going to lose his girl too?

He brought his hand up to his eyes at that. Pressing his fingers into them. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Trying to stop the waterworks that just kept trying to push out.

Erin wouldn't do that to E, though. Had got to trust that. Would still be a part of his life even if she couldn't stand the sight of him right now.

Had to trust too that they'd had disagreements before. Rough patches. Been real upset with each other and how the other dealt with things. Had had falling outs before. But that was just being a parent to an adult child. Had to trust that she wouldn't be a loss in all of this too. Not if he worked at it.

He'd work at it. He just … couldn't right now. He couldn't think about it. How to cope with that part of it. Even though it was just making the weight of all this so much fucking heavier.

But he thought he could fix it. Fix this. With E and with his girl. He could.

But Olive and Henry?

Couldn't let his little grandson slip away. That baby boy was on the biggest blessings in his life. More so now. So much more. A living, breathing – walking and almost talking – piece of his son. Couldn't lose that either. Couldn't fuck it up.

But they weren't there. They weren't at the house. Not when he'd gotten home.

Had to trust that it was like Olive had said. That she was having trouble being in the house – her husband's house that night. Alone. That H was fussing. That she just wanted to be with someone and get some help with Henry. So she could cry herself.

She was just at her aunt's. Not far. Just Pilsen. He'd see her – see Henry – tomorrow. And he'd work it out. He'd fix this. Because he couldn't add that loss to all this too. Couldn't let them slowly slip away now that J was gone. Now that they'd have less and less reason to come by. To keep in touch. To even be – or want to be – in the city.

So he had to fix it. Had to keep them close. Needed to.

But the thought just made him press at his eyes harder. To force himself to calm his breathing. To not choke on that lump in his throat that just wouldn't go away.

"Are you crying?" Ethan whispered next to him.

The kid had been so quiet and so still, Hank had thought he'd fallen asleep.

And that was better. Because E's calm was scaring him too. His little boy was being a stoic as the rest of them. Eth was fucking doing better than Erin. Maybe even better than him.

And he wanted to say it was just his damaged head. That Eth didn't process things the same way as everyone else. That E was a little emotionally stunted – or stunned – a lot of the time. There'd been tears out of him but not blubbering waterworks. Not the way he'd anticipated. That he hadn't been quite sure how to deal with because he didn't do tears well and he wasn't in a state that day – that afternoon as he stood by as his oldest boy was taken off life support and died before his very eyes – to stand still. To be there for his son or Olive or Henry. He had needed to be there for them in other ways – that entitled him not being there. But he also didn't know how to explain that to any of them. So he'd just promised them that he'd find who did this – who fucking did this to his family, to his grandson, to his daughter-in-law, to his oldest boy. And he'd left.

He'd gone to do his job. To look after his own. Because he didn't believe in some sort of cosmic karma. He believed in revenge. He needed it for himself – because they'd fucking come after his family again. They hadn't taken enough from him – from his children – already. Now they were taking from his grandchild.

It was just take, take, fucking take. This city – this fucking beautiful city of savages – it'd taken his father, it'd taken his wife, it'd damaged his little boy, and now it'd taken his son. And it'd left a fucking mess in his wake for all the others around him. Was it fucking Chicago and its savages that did it? Or was he just born into bad news? A fucking jinx to all those around him. The ones he was supposed to protect.

He spent his life protecting the citizens of Chicago. He spent his life protecting the men and women who protected the citizens of Chicago. But he couldn't seem to fucking protect his own family. He couldn't fucking save them. Look after them.

It was a fucking bowling alley and they were the pins. And they all just kept on getting fucking knocked down.

But he'd thought that Ethan would protest more. That he'd put up a fuss. That he'd be in hysterics. That he'd be a confused mess. That he'd get himself so worked up that his body would flare with the sadness and the anger and the stress. But he hadn't. And maybe that was almost scary too because Magoo just seemed to settle into that unfeeling daze too quickly. And even though Voight could understand that – the need to protect yourself – he didn't want his son to be that zombie. To shut down that much.

But the numb was comforting. So maybe it was better if his son was just numb right now too. Maybe it was for the best.

"No," Voight half-lied and lowered his hand and went back to focusing on those little specks on the ceiling.

They both just lay there again. E was quiet but he could hear his breathing. Wasn't sleeping. Could hear the rain still pelting away again the window. Talk about some sort of fucking pathetic fallacy. The thunder still clapping. Still cracking over and over in the distance.

"At least we know that now Mom has J's back again, right …?" E offered weakly after a real long time.

Hank felt that lump in his throat grow bigger. The fucking waterworks argue with him more about where they wanted to be. And he again pressed his index and thumb to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight. Couldn't even manage to give his son a grunt of acknowledgement. Could barely make himself nod.

And if it was true or wasn't true. If some sort of fucking afterlife existed or didn't. He didn't think the thought brought him any comfort. Because neither of them were supposed to be fucking gone. Not now. Not yet.

Taken six years for Cami being gone to feel "easier". Six years and he still wasn't ready to move on. He still was grieving. He still was hurting. And now life – the fucking world, a fucking asshole – had just ripped open that still seeping wound and filled it with a salt that was stinging more than he could imagine. Because your kids weren't supposed to go before you.

He'd already had to look that demon in the face with Magoo. He'd had to sit there and watch him cling to life and death. To be on the edge of that fucking void. But they'd pulled him away from it. And now it was just like the Devil had fucking come back and claimed another soul. Taken his oldest instead. Not just taken J. It'd taken him at the time it would hurt most. Because it took the normalcy his family was working toward too. It'd taken a father from his grandson. It'd fractured his relationship with his remaining children.

And it ached in a way he couldn't process. He couldn't give names to it or tell you which emotions it entailed. It was surreal. It didn't feel real. But it's reality was so fucking there. It was in his being. And it hurt to his core.

Camille would be so disappointed in him.

This was not the way it was supposed to be. This is not how his family was supposed to be. This was not how they were supposed to look like. Not what his life was supposed to look like. Not what Justin's life was supposed to be. Or Henry's. Or Ethan's or Olive's or Erin's.

None of them.

But there it was.

Here they were.

"You're allowed to cry, Dad," Ethan said quietly again.

He made a small sound at that and forced him to let his hand come down. Looked at his little boy – who wasn't so little – gazing at him with all this fucking concern. But Hank just allowed him a sad, thin smile even though he knew his eyes were still fucking glassing over and it was taking more of his being to keep stable than he wanted to avoid.

But he just gave E a little nod. "I know," he allowed and shifted his arm to wrap it around his son's opposite shoulder. "I'm OK," he assured.

E just rested his temple against his shoulder for a long time again after that before he finally asked, "What happens tomorrow?"

Hank gripped at him. "Guess we'll go check on Olive and Henry."

"To talk about the funeral?" Ethan asked weakly.

"Yeah …," Hank allowed. "If Olive wants us … me … there at the meeting. But just … need to make sure they're doing OK, Magoo."

"When will the funeral be?" E asked quietly.

Hank reached with his free hand and pinched at his nose. "Don't know, Magoo. Will depend on a few things. If J's eligible for a military funeral—"

"Is that the one where they fire guns like in the movies? Because I don't think J wants to hear no more guns," E said and his voice cracked.

Hank's eyes glassed more and he gripped more at his son. "We'll have to talk about all that with Olive and the funeral director and see what they say and what Olive wants too."

"I don't think I want to go," E whispered.

"Ethan, Olive and Henry are really going to need our support. She'll really appreciate if you come and play with H so me and her can talk some tomorrow."

"Not that," Ethan said. "I don't want to go to the funeral."

Hank stared at the ceiling through his blurred vision. The fucking waterworks were pooling in his eyes now. He squeezed at his son's shoulder.

"Son, no one likes going to a funeral," he said. "But it's important. It's closure—"

"No it's not," E whispered firmly into his chest.

Hank let out a slow breath. "Something you've got to do for your brother, Magoo. And for Olive and Henry."

"Will Erin be there?" he asked.

"Hope so," Hank allowed.

Ethan fidgeted against him a bit. Lifting his head to gaze at him more directly. That fucking scrutiny that the kid did. A microscope that Voight really didn't want to be under.

"Are you and Erin mad at each other?" Magoo asked.

Voight let out a slower breath and stared up at the ceiling. Almost wished there were some kind of answers up in those faded fake artificial stars. But there weren't.

"All hurting real bad," he rasped. "Just sad, Ethan. Same as you."

"You seemed angry with each other when you came to get me," Ethan said. "And Jay was acting weird. And so was Erin."

"All just still processing," Hank tired. "It's a hell of a lot to wrap our heads around."

His son's eyes kept his. Too long. Some times Voight swore under all that brain damage, his son was actually a human eye detector. That he'd pushed at his boy too long that a whole lot of being a cop was the ability to look someone in the eye and to figure out if they were bullshitting you. To figure out what they were telling you or asking you for – the help they needed – based on what they were saying with their eyes. Not their actions or words.

That night he was really fucking wishing it wasn't a lesson he'd been teaching his boy.

But E finally seemed to accept the answer – even if he didn't believe it. And he settled back down onto the bed, leaning against him again.

"Dad …," he said hesitantly after them both just laying there again. "… You know how you say that you lost your temper when Justin hurt that kid drunk driving? That that's why we all had to go away and not just J?"

Voight's eyes stung again but he didn't reach to try to stop what was happening there that time. He just grunted that he'd heard his son's question because he couldn't form words and he didn't much want to.

"Well, I really don't want you to lose your temper this time, Dad," Eth said quietly but firmly.

"I'm trying," Voight managed but his rasp cracked when he said it and that just made the tears press out harder and he did move to stop them at that point. Pressing his thumb into one eye and his index finger into the other and willing the waterworks to stop. To not have his youngest see him like that. But even if he was hiding it visually, he could feel his chest shaking as he tried to calm himself. And he knew his son against him, must feel it too.

He must, because one of Eth's arms came around him and gripped at his shoulder too. His cheek flopping in the middle of his chest as his little boy held him. His little boy tried to comfort him.

"Dad, just never forget I love you," Ethan told him firmly.

And those repeated words he'd spent his life as a father telling his kids over and over – now coming out of the mouth of his only remaining son - was enough for the sob to rattle out and for him to shake harder. To press those fingers into his eyes harder.

"It's OK to cry …," Ethan said softly.

And he listened. He let down his hand and wrapped that arm around his son too. And he held him. They held each other. While the tears just kept pooling in his own eyes and his chest and lungs kept fighting with him to let out more. And he felt his shirt were his son's face was buried grown damp as his little boy's shoulders shook against him too.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**

 **This will be the last update to this story before the premiere this week. Hope everyone enjoys watching it and isn't too disappointed.**

 **I may have time to do another update to Scenes before the premiere, though.**

 **Also will be adding Quarter Answers to the top of this story. Will leave it in Scenes for now but will likely eventually be deleted.**


	4. Collapsed Pedestal

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THERE ARE MAJOR SPOILERS IN THIS FROM THE PREMIERE. This chapter takes place immediately after the premiere.**

Erin gazed at Hank. He'd just been sitting there staring into his oddly requested tea and not speaking. Still looking teary. Still reaching and squeezing at the bridge of his nose and pressing his fingers into his eyes.

There'd been very few times she'd seen Hank cry. He cried. She knew he cried. That his eyes filled with sadness and visibly glassed more than he likely wanted. But to actually breakdown and the way he had that night? That was new. Different. Even after Camille. But it'd been different then. Ethan being in the hospital hadn't given him the chance to process or grieve – not properly – until months later. And even then Erin knew he was still grieving and processing.

But this was different. He was broken. And that scared her on some level because Hank wasn't supposed to be broken. Not like this. He was always one of those people that you knew no matter what life threw at him, he'd get by. He could handle it. He'd figure it out.

He hadn't, though. And that night it was clear he wasn't.

And the threads he'd been clinging to for some stability were fraying and breaking along with him.

It meant as much as she still didn't want to be in the same room as him – as much as she was still struggling to look at him, to talk to him – that she couldn't just shut him out.

She hadn't. She'd made her choice. She'd picked her line in the tand and she'd taken her side on it.

And she was going to have to live with that decision. She was going to have to see how it played out and what it meant. For her. For him. For their family. For their lives. For their relationships. For their jobs.

It was in motion now. And now they'd both be spending the rest of their careers – the rest of their lives – carrying that with them. Looking over their shoulders. Watching their backs. Double-checking for booby traps.

And maybe that wasn't a way to live. But it was the way she'd chosen. It was the commitment she'd made. Because this was Hank.

And like it or not – she owed him. But she wasn't sure she was indebted to him anymore. Her debt had been paid. He'd saved her. And she'd returned that favor she'd been waiting to return her whole adult life.

And now he was crumbling.

And as he'd shaken with his own personal agony of it all – of the recognition of what it meant for him and her and his sons and their lives as a family and their futures – she knew all he wanted then was comfort. That she wasn't his daughter in that moment. That she was all he had left to keep him from crumbling to dust.

And as he cried – as he looked for that hug and that comfort – he seemed more like her baby brother. The little boy who needed reassurances, who needed comfort and physical affection and to be held. And that scared her too. Because Hank had always been her source of strength. Someone she could count on. Could trust. Could talk to. But maybe he wasn't any of that anymore.

And that hurt her too. It scared her. Because it was an end. And a new beginning. And she wasn't sure it was one that either of them was ready for. Not now. Not yet. But it was what it was. And they had to deal with it.

So she'd let him in.

She'd let him sit. She'd listened as he tried to compose himself – and as he continued to struggle to. She made him tea. And she sat down the couch waiting for him to calm. Waiting for him to harden again. For her to see the man who raised her again and not this damaged creature. For something to click in her where she could manage to sit by him and next to him and look at him and talk to him without thinking and feeling everything she was thinking and feeling.

The disgust with him and herself. The confusion on the understanding of why this had happened - to them ... to all of them ... to Justin and to Henry and to Olive ... and to Ethan and to Hank ... and to her - but not understanding it all. All she could feel, though, was anger and the sadness and the rage and the defeat. And she supposed that was understandable but she didn't like feeling it. Not that way. Because she felt broken too.

She felt like claustrophobic. Like she was in a shallow grave and would never see the light again – not in the same way – either. Like the gravel was being piled up on her. Buried alive.

Maybe they all were. Maybe none of them would see the light again. To have it be a good day.

And as pessimistic as that was, she was having trouble making herself be hopeful. To be optimistic. Not after what had happened. What they'd done. What they had to live with. Carry with them. When they already carried so much.

"You've still got Henry and Ethan too, Hank," she finally said. She finally managed.

He shook his head at his tea. "She's taking him away."

Erin let out a little sigh and tucked her legs under herself on her couch that didn't feel so comfortable that night – not in form or function. "I think you need to get clarification on where exactly she's staying."

"Scottsdale," he mumbled.

"Arizona or just over in Ashburn, Hank?" she put to him more firmly.

"Arizona," he said under her breath.

"You said before she didn't say that," she put back to him. But he just kept staring at his tea that was nearly done steaming and working on its way to being cold.

"Was supposed to get my grandson here. Three, four years," he whispered.

"And that was before – and this is now," Erin said flatly. His eyes darted to her with anger that was superseded by his own sadness. "Hank, if they'd been here for three or four years, it would've been just as hard – harder – when it was time for them to move."

"He would've been moving for the job," he said, going back to staring into his mug.

Erin shrugged. "And he," ... 'he' because none of them were saying his name yet, not now ..., "would've taken your grandson all the way to somewhere on the East Coast, Hank, and he likely wouldn't have been there long before he was sent into combat. And then we might've been having these conversations with Henry at eight years old – and you already said you didn't want that. That you didn't want to even imagine that."

"Different," he muttered. "At least he would've known his father. Remember him."

Erin sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "Well, Hank, you did a year of Henry being down at Fort Campbell."

"Tennessee," he hissed. "Not fucking Arizona."

She leaned forward and stared at him until he shifted his gaze to her. "Olive isn't saying that she doesn't want you to be a part of Henry's life," she pressed at him firmly. She called on all his teachings of tough love to drill into him in that moment. "So what you're going to have to do is keep communication lines open, keep being there for her and Henry as much as she lets you, and you book off your fucking furlough for once, Hank, and get on a fucking plane and go down and visit your grandson every chance you get and every chance that Olive lets you have."

His eyes drifted away from hers, going back to staring at his tea, staring at his hands wrapped awkwardly around the mug. No reply.

Because as much as there was to say, right now, they had so little to say to each other. And it didn't feel like that was going to change any time soon.

Erin sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa, her hand coming up to rest on her forehead as she examined him. His sadness. The guilt in him. The fear. And the cracks that were showing far too visibly.

"Where's Eth tonight?" she asked.

"Told him he could go over to Evan's after camp. His mom was going to take them to ball."

She glanced at the clock. Ball would be near over, if not already over. That it was going to be getting passed Ethan's lights out even for a ball night. But Hank's phone wasn't buzzing, if he even had it on him at the moment.

"Evan's mom know what was going on today?" she asked.

Hank gave a little shrug. "Not unless she heard through the grapevine."

Erin eyed him. The grapevine was buzzing. Vibrating. All around them. And that was going to haunt them for the rest of their careers too. There'd be talks. There'd be looks. There'd be whispers and awkward interactions and people who refused to work effectively with them or were obnoxious with them and confrontational and outright aggressive. And that was only going to make things worse. The rumors on this sort of grapevine don't just die. The talk doesn't start. It just turns into a game of telephone where the messages gets more and more elaborate and skewed with each passing day and week and month and year.

That there would be talk about what Hank did - or didn't do. What he got away with. How he did it. And if she covered up for him. Who else in Intelligence was complacent. That she was Hank's Girl and it was only a matter of time before Jay was caught in the web and labelled as being under her thumb - or Voight's too.

"Do you have your phone with you?" she put to him. He just grunted. "Is it on?"

"Yea …," he allowed.

She gave a little nod. "You picking him up at ball or Evan's place?"

"Guess ball …"

"Should probably head out soon," she told him bluntly.

He only grunted in reply and showed no sign he was ready to move. But he did finally gave her a little glance, catching her eyes.

"Should come," he offered - more gently, more pleadingly than the rest of their talk. "He'd love to see you."

She gave her head a little shake. "Not tonight."

Because she wasn't going to do that. She wasn't going to play that game. She wasn't going to pretend they were OK or their family was OK or their lives were going to be OK. She wasn't going to on that show. She wasn't going to lie to Ethan like that. She couldn't. And she wouldn't. He deserved more. Better.

So much better than all of this that he was being dragged into. Shackled to for the rest of his life too.

Hank's eyes saddened more. "Thinks we're fighting."

Erin frowned at him and just shrugged. Because they were weren't they? Maybe they always would be now. There'd be tension. Their relationship was marred. This wasn't like before. It wasn't like after Camille or Eth being hurt or Justin drunk driving or Hank getting tossed in jail or him sending Ethan away or getting shanked or having to deal with Justin wrapped up as an accomplice to murder. It wasn't Browning or Pulpo or Beckett or Ian Marks or Lucasz Gregorie or Charlie or any other long list of names she wasn't supposed to know about and didn't want to think about - and what Hank had done or hadn't done at the Silos or at the lake or at the docks or in the River.

"I know," she allowed, though. "He texts. We've talked on the phone."

But she didn't know what more to say about that. They weren't fighting but they were never going to be the same. It was going to take a long time for this to even not feel strained. For them to find a new "normal" again. She wasn't sure that such a thing could ever exist again in these circumstances. It seemed hopelessly out of reach.

He allowed her his own little nod, though, and went back to looking at his tea – finally taking a small sip of it. She didn't think he liked it. The cup had barely touched his lips before he brought it down.

"How's he doing?" she asked.

Because she had been keeping her distance. Because she only talked to Ethan so much and on so many subjects – even though she knew that wasn't fair to him. But it was what she had to do. It was how she had to protect herself. And him. And to try to keep them from really fighting. From crumbling apart even more.

But she knew it was hurting Eth. That it was scaring him. That he was confused and had questions. That he was filling in his own blanks. Because he was a smart kid. And he wasn't a little one. Not anymore. Not with how his life had been. Not with that he'd gone through - and seemed to keep going through. Not with the questions he was asking and the looks he was giving and the connections he was making and everything he was picking up on.

He wasn't oblivious. He wasn't a child. Not anymore.

"Good," Hank told his tea. "Real good." He gave her a look. "He wants to cash out his savings. Get his Playstation or new Xbox thing or whatever."

She shrugged. "Likely looking for distraction."

"Don't think that's healthy," he put flatly.

"Lots of ways dealing with all this that aren't healthy," she directed. "Worse ways than videogames."

Though, she knew Jay would frown on a new videogame system too. That he'd talk about being a loner and being aggressive and being hurt and burying yourself in that sadness and rage. And how he didn't want that for Ethan.

None of them did.

But Ethan lived in a violent world. He'd survived violence. He was surrounded by it.

They could only protect him from it so long. And they hadn't done a very good job of that. Not now, not then, not ever.

So this was just another game that had been set into motion - and they were going to see how it would play out.

What she knew was she was less concerned about video games than the schisms the video games might create between Ethan and Hank. The fights. When they had bigger and better things to fight about. More important things to fight about. But maybe it was better they argue about video games and screen-time for now. Maybe that would almost seem normal.

Hank gave her a glance. A long one, and then finally changed the topic slightly with, "Liked that programming camp at Field you set up for him. Did real good at it too."

She gave him a thin smile. It was genuine. It made her feel a flicker or normalcy. Some happiness and some pride -in something, in someone.

"He sent me the app," she acknowledged. It was cute - dinosaurs and eggs and fossils and footprints - and she knew that it would amaze Hank that his child - his not so little boy - had made that. "I'm glad he went. Wasn't sure he would."

Hank gave a little nod. "Didn't really want to. But not good for him sitting around the house. Not good for any of us."

"Mmm …," Erin acknowledged. Because she already heard that line. She knew that Hank thought he needed to be at work. And maybe he did. Maybe it was the only thing that would save him. It was an assumption she'd worked on - even if she didn't agree with it. And maybe she had to hope it'd give him some stability. Though, she wasn't sure him being there would give any sort of stability or comfort to the rest of them. They were all dodging holes and watching for booby-traps. All waiting for the next shoe to drop. And that wasn't a way to live. To work.

But all she asked was, "And the RIC camp?"

Hank shrugged. "Seems OK," he provided. "Not that chatty. Have him pretty tired by the end of the day."

She rubbed at her eyebrow. Because Ethan not being chatty - no matter how tired - said more than anything he could say would. "How are his flares?"

Hank's head hung a bit. "Not great. The heat. Stress."

Erin eyed him. She thought about lecturing him on managing Ethan's M.S. She thought about checking in to make sure it wasn't something he was neglecting or taking a step back on as he dealt with his own grief. She thought about asking if they'd been to the hospital - or they needed to go to the hospital, but Hank just wasn't ready to go back there. To ask about when his next appointment with his neurologist was. If he was really well enough to be doing the RIC camp if he was flaring that badly.

But maybe none of it - now - was really any of her business. Maybe all of it was something she needed to learn to remove herself from. To back off. To take less responsibility. To not be as involved. To not carry that weight too.

But she was already trying that. And it was hard. To separate herself from her family.

But she didn't have to ask or respond or think - because her phone vibrated on the coffee table and she glanced at it. She saw Hank's eyes move to it to see Jay's message appear on the screen.

"Halstead?" he asked, casting her a look.

She just nodded and reached to tilt the phone so she could read the message more readily. She hadn't responded to his earlier message when Hank had arrived unannounced and Jay was likely starting to get worried. But he was another person on the list of people she didn't much feeling like talking to or making eye contact with that night.

If Jay knew what she'd done – if he didn't already suspect and got his confirmation – he'd likely loose respect for her. And now this? Revisiting moving in together? Revisiting buying a place? Him kissing her at work?

All of this? Now?

It just made her feel a new level of sadness. A new level of guilt. Because Jay didn't know who or what he was marrying. Not really. She didn't know if she could carry this into a marriage. Into starting her own family. A new family. If she could justify placing that burden she'd been carrying – those potential booby traps she'd be dodging the rest of her life – on others. On Jay. On children. It was just setting up everyone for even more hurt. More loss.

And all of that hurt too.

She'd already exposed Jay to too much. Dragged him too far into this. Made him to culpable. And that also wasn't how this was supposed to be.

"What's he know about all this?" Hank put to her as she looked at that message on her phone. Him asking if she was alright. If she'd looked at the listing. What she thought. If she wanted to go look at it. That he thought it might be perfect for everything right now. The number of rooms. The location. The price.

But Erin didn't feel like anything could be perfect right now. She didn't know how to take these lemons and make them lemonade. She didn't know if she wanted to live closer to Hank – even though Jay was phrasing it as them being closer to Ethan. Them being there for Ethan.

Because she was still trying to figure out how to be there for Ethan in all this. How to be his sister while not diving into the rest of the family dynamic. Not right now.

She didn't want to be in that house. Or at Sunday dinners. Or be Hank's daughter.

They'd never quite be father-figure-daughter-replacement again.

Now they were just two adults – two cops – irreparability tied together for the rest of their lives. Thick as thieves. The criminals they were. The bad guys they'd become. The grey area they didn't just toe anymore – they existed in it. It would hang over them. And everyone was going to see that. They already did.

So what would that mean for her and Ethan?

He didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve the impact it would have – that it was already having – on his life. He didn't need to become the person that she was afraid he was going to become. That her baby brother would learn to live in that grey – with that cloud – too. That that's the kind of man he'd grow to be. That it would wreck him. Destroy who he was. Everything about him that she loved so much.

"Jay knows better than to ask much," Erin told Hank flatly. But Jay didn't need to ask.

Hank just kept eyeing her. His eyes so sad and cautious.

"What'd you teach me, Hank?" she put to him. "That Camille knew more than I thought but that you only told her what she needed to know and needed to hear to not ask too many questions?"

He let out a slow breath and looked away from her, gazing back at his mug. Because they both knew that Camille knew enough. That Jay knew enough. That they all had their secrets to haunt them - and to potentially destroy them. Not just as individuals - but as a couple and as a family.

"It's not something Jay needs to hear and I don't want him to know," she added. "He knows enough. He works with us."

For now.

But it was like he said … cases come and go, jobs come and go, bosses come and go.

Maybe neither of them would be there much longer. Maybe it didn't make sense anymore for them to be. For any of them. So then the only question left was if any of them went would they be going from each others lives too.

"Ethan needs you, Erin," Hank finally said and his voice cracked again. His hand reaching up to press into his eyes again before he looked at her sadly. "He keeps trying to comfort me. This little fucking kid and he's trying to do that for me …"

Erin gave him a small shrug even though it broke her heart to force herself to try to be so unfeeling. "He's not so little anymore, Hank," she told him. "And he's pretty good at the comfort thing. At being a source of stability. So … lean on him."

"He's my child," Hank said, pinching at his nose with squinted shut eyes again. "I'm supposed to be doing that for him."

She looked at him. Wanted to remind him of all the times he'd put her in her place about who was the child and who was the parent in their relationship. Yet here they were right now. It was him leaning on her in that moment too.

But it didn't matter. Because father-daughter, parent-child. She knew those titles didn't apply anymore. They couldn't. It'd never be something he could hold over her again. Because eventually you grew up and you made your own decisions and you took care of your debts, you drew your lines and you made your allegiances.

She'd done that.

And Hank might not like it, but maybe his youngest son was going to start having to make those choices sooner than her or Justin had. In a different way. That Ethan was growing up faster and harder. That he'd already had to. That it'd already happened.

And now they were going to have to protect him from that. From the decisions and the influences and the anger and the sadness. And that fucking cloud that would hang over them. The grey.

His fingers pressed at his eyes more and she could tell he was back near tears. "He's such a good kid. I keep thinkin' how you … him coming home. Him staying home. And now he's … the only thing. This blessing … and …" his shoulders shook. "There's so many things I shoulda done differently," his voice cracked.

Erin gazed at his trembling. Sitting on the end of the couch. Not wanting to budge but struggling with seeing him in so much pain. So much that it hurt her. So she shifted closer and she again wrapped her arm around him and patted at his shoulder as his forehead settled against hers.

"Hank, Ethan loves you. He has you on a pedestal. You are everything he wants to be. Everything he wants to become. To him – you're still Dad and you're still a hero," she told him. "So what you need to do is pull yourself together, to go get him at baseball before he starts wondering what is wrong and where you are, and you need to start being the man he sees you as again - to deserve to be the man he sees you as – before all of this swallows him too. You can save him from that. That is something you can do. But you need to start doing it now. It can't wait."

And it couldn't. It wouldn't. The grey – the darkness – it didn't wait on anyone. And you had to spend your life fighting it back before it ate you alive.

They couldn't let it eat Ethan alive.

Not like them.

He deserved more than that.

And, though, Hank hadn't stopped completely with his struggle to control his emotions, he slowly pulled away from her, wiping at his eyes while she frowned at him.

He leaned forward and placed his mug of lukewarm tea on the coaster on the table and rose, gesturing at it.

"Thank you for the tea," he said. "And everything"

She barely nodded. "Same."

He stared at her for a long beat but then shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for the door. She stayed on the couch. Listening as he let himself out – staring at that tea the way he had. Hoping that maybe there were more or better answers somewhere in the bottom of it.

But there wasn't.

They'd have to find the answers somewhere in themselves instead.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Reviews and feedback are much appreciated.**


	5. Try Harder

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 ** _This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes._**

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THERE ARE MAJOR SPOILERS IN THIS FROM THE PREMIERE.**

"I can't stay in that house," Olive sputtered again, causing Erin to pull her eyes away from the disaster of a living room she was standing in.

She wouldn't even call it a living room. This house looked like a hoarder lived in it. It was just piled with junk and clutter. It hardly felt like she could move – or that there was anything she wanted to let herself touch – let alone have her nephew touching.

Not that Henry was being afforded the opportunity to touch anything. He was in a playpen in the middle of the room just balling – reaching and reaching for her in a clear indication that he wanted to be out of there, that he wanted to be held, to be comforted. But Olive hadn't given her any indication she was welcome to hold him, and Erin knew she was already crossing lines and boundaries – so she didn't want to cross another.

This was too delicate of territory as it was. Too hard. Too strained. And part of her completely understood where Olive was coming from. Why she was running. But Erin also felt compelled to have this conversation – to make this effort.

She didn't know who it was for. If it was for Justin. Or Hank. Or Ethan. Or Henry. Or maybe even herself on some level.

But she couldn't just standby. She had done that too much already. She'd walked away and stayed out of it. When she shouldn't have. Because she was a part of it. More of a part of it than she ever wanted to be.

So she was here. She was trying. Because this was something she could do. For all the things she didn't know what to do lately – how to fix, how to make it better – she could do this. She could try.

Because as much as Olive didn't want to be in Hank's house – Hank and Camille's and Justin's house – she couldn't be here. She couldn't have Henry here either. Even if this was just temporary while she finished packing.

"I just think that maybe you're making this decision too quickly," Erin tried. She really tried. To keep her voice level. To be non-judgmental. To be understanding – because she did understand. "You don't have to make this decision right now."

"I can't stay in that house," Olive pressed back at her more firmly. "That museum," she sputtered and balled up more of her clothes and tossed them into a suitcase that was overflowing in her flustered efforts. "Everywhere I look I see Justin."

Erin sighed and crossed her arms against herself – trying to steady herself, to calm herself, to be rational in all of this. Because she knew what Hank's house was like. She knew that it never changed and that it likely never would. She knew that it made it hard – strange –to be in. It was trapped in time.

And now?

She didn't know. She hadn't been over. Not since the day of the funeral and that had just been in and out. She hadn't stayed. She couldn't. She could barely sit with the family at the church.

But she knew from Ethan that Hank had been down in the basement and up in the attic. "Looking at boxes" was all Ethan had provided. But that said enough. She knew what that meant. And if there was a visible presence of Justin enough in the house already –that Hank would be pulling out or stashing away in drawers close to him – bits and pieces of his son. And that that couldn't be good for anyone. That that couldn't be good for Eth to see or Olive to see or for any of them to cope with on top of what they were going through.

"No one's asking you to stay at the house," Erin put to her.

"Hank is," Olive spat back at her, stopping the packing. She looked so upset.

Erin ran her hands through he hair and just looked at Henry. "He just wants to be near Henry, Olive."

"He's clinging to him," Olive near accused.

Erin frowned. "He's a piece of his son. His wife," she tried. "He's just…" she didn't know. She didn't know what to say. Because in all of this there were no words. No answers. No condolences. No understandings or explanations. It was just this never-ending minefield of emotions.

"That can't be good for him," Olive said. "Not for either of them."

"Olive, this isn't good for Henry either," Erin tried again – her heart breaking with each scream out of her little nephew. Her usually happy, smiley, silly little nephew who toddled a hundred miles and hour and you had to near sprint to keep up with him and his mischievous. But now – since Justin died – all she had seen him do was fuss as the sadness and tension radiating from the adults around him. And now he was defined to this cage in this fucking disaster zone while he waited to have his young life uprooted and turned upside down even more than it already had been. "You can't stay here."

"We're not staying here," Olive muttered. "I just need a couple days to pack. To get organized."

"To go where?" Erin put back to her, even though, she'd already been told the answer.

"Scottsdale," Olive said flatly, turning away from her again.

"We talking about the one 10 miles away or the one 1,500 miles away?" Erin pressed with more firmness that time. Because it was an answer they needed. An answer their family deserved. But all Olive did was cast her a look over her shoulder and turn back to her vain efforts to organize the suitcase.

"To live with your sister?" Erin pressed again – harder. "Your sister that you haven't mentioned in the nearly two years you've been a part of our family, Olive. Your sister that if we're talking Scottsdale down the road in Ashburn, you haven't gone to visit when you've been in town. And if we're talking Arizona, neither you or Justin certainly never told us about making any trips out that way. There's a reason for that, right?" Olive stilled her work at packing but didn't look at her. "I remember your sister back in the day. Iggy's. Couple years younger than me. Bit of a mean girl. And that's where you're looking for help now? That's where you want to be? Who you want Henry to be around?"

Olive turned around at that and actually looked at her – in the eye, though nervously. "Erin, I can't stay here. This place. It's just filled with bad memories. All these bad things that happened to me and to Justin."

"But you're here," Erin argued back. "You and Justin decided to come back here. This is where you picked to be."

She shook her head. "It's where he picked. It's what he wanted. And look what happened? Look what this place did to him – to us, to Henry – again."

Erin sighed and examined her feet – because she couldn't examine the floor. She could barely see it. "I heard you say you wanted to be here too," Erin said quietly. "So we could be a family. So we could be a part of Henry's life."

"You'll still be a part of Henry's life," Olive offered meekly.

Erin wasn't sure she believed her. She knew with time and distance it would get harder and harder and they'd become more and more people that Henry didn't know. They'd become shadows in his life that had barely remembered. They'd become Christmas and birthday cards with money in them. They wouldn't be grandpas and aunts and uncles anymore. They'd be people he'd barely known once – when he was a baby. As Olive tried to move on with her life and her grief – and tried to forget about them and about all of this. And what she'd married into.

Erin looked at her. "What about your plans? Finishing you physical therapy training? Getting the internship?"

Olive's eyes glassed a bit more than they had been the whole time she'd been there. It looked like Olive had spent the past two weeks in near tears. But they all had. They all looked like shit. So sad and so tired—and so dead on the inside and out. Pale and washed out. A palor had washed over them all. They weren't the people they were. Not anymore.

And Erin knew she couldn't expected Olive to just carry on with the plans of her former self. To pretend that only one small part of her life had changed. To act like what happened didn't change everything.

That that was then and this was now. And it was all so incredibly different.

They weren't the people they were. And the dreams and hopes and aspirations and goals they had two weeks ago didn't apply today. They'd shifted so much that they'd likely could never be hoped for again.

"I need to get a real job," Olive put flatly. "I can't afford to live here. I can't afford to live on my own – and raise Henry."

"Is that what this is about?" Erin grasped at more straws. "Because, Hank can help you, until the will and the life insurance—"

"Erin…," Olive sighed an interruption.

"Me and Jay can help you," she tried again on the hope it was she didn't want to take money from Hank, though she knew that Hank would give it to her. Gladly. If it kept her in the city. If it kept his grandchild in the city. He'd do whatever it took.

"I can't go back to that apartment," she said.

"Then …," Erin sputtered on the hope she'd found some in, "…we'll find you some place else."

"Erin…," she sighed again.

"Or … we can move you into Jay's place. Or mine. Whatever you're more comfortable with," Erin tried again.

Olive shook her head and turned back to her packing.

"Olive, please," Erin tried more gently – more brokenly, "don't do this to Hank."

Olive's shoulder's slouched at that. "Erin, please … don't," she whispered.

"You know how much he loves Henry," Erin pressed. "He needs to be able to see and be near his grandson. He needs that right now."

Because she'd seen Hank the night before and she knew that this move was going to break him more than he was already broken. That he needed the stability of his grandson. He needed reminders of the good and the right and the blessings.

They all needed to be able to hold onto that. To Henry. Not just Hank.

She didn't want her nephew to leave too. As hard as it had been to be around him since they'd moved back to the city, now she felt her heart breaking even know to know that another little boy would be disappearing from her life. Teddy, the Ethan she'd known before the accident, her and Jay's baby, the brother she'd grown up with and fought with, and now her little nephew. Her little nephew who looked so much like Justin and Camille and Hank and Ethan all wrapped together.

They all needed him. To be close to him. To be a part of his life. Not just on holidays or phone calls or Facetime. They needed the day-to-day.

Hank needed his grandson. And Ethan needed his little nephew – who he'd be more of a big brother to than an uncle. Who would understand the loss and the questions that Henry would grow up with. The loneliness and the sadness that never seemed to really go away when you had that gaping whole of the loss of one of the people who helped create you. Who held you and loved you and hugged you. Hank and Ethan needed that. But so did she. And so did Jay.

Henry had become the potential lynch pin that could hold them together. But instead it felt like he was the pin in a grenade that Olive was about to pull. Pull and toss it back at them. To let them explode – and implode – as she ran for cover.

Maybe she was the smart one.

Erin knew that she likely was.

That she had to protect her child and do what she felt was right for her and for him and for their little family.

But something about it didn't feel right.

And even though she'd come here telling herself that she was doing this for Hank. That she would have this conversation for his sake – even though she'd told herself she was going to stay out of it – she was doing it for more reasons than that.

This was her last ditch effort for her family's survival too. Her own survival.

Because they all needed some stability. Some hope. Some reason. And right now –that was Henry.

"I need to be near my family right now," Olive said – still not looking at her.

"We are your family, Olive," Erin said with her voice cracking slightly.

Because she'd never expressed that to Olive – not verbally or with her tone and attitude. She'd tried to be polite to her. But she'd mostly just tolerated her. She had thoughts and opinions about her – about the pregnancy and the marriage and her taking Hank's money and the mess she'd gotten everyone into – but she'd bitten her tongue. But she knew that Olive had tried. She'd tried to be a part of the family. To find her place. And maybe they hadn't welcomed her enough. And now they were paying the ultimate price.

Maybe she should've tried harder. Maybe she should've tried to share with Olive more. To welcome her. To help her navigate Hank and Ethan and even Justin. To bring her into what it meant to be a member of the Voight household.

Because it was hard. And they were hard people. They weren't soft and cuddly and affectionate. They didn't make small talk and hand out hugs and kisses. They didn't make it easy to get to know them or to be around them.

But they had tried. And they'd tried even more when Henry arrived. They were all so excited for Henry. They were all so in love with Henry. And they all understood that Olive was his mother. That she was Justin's wife. So they'd tried again.

Or Erin thought they had. But maybe it hadn't been enough. Maybe it'd been too little too late. And now they were paying for it.

The steepest price.

"Please, Hank has done so much for you and Henry," she knew she sounded like she was begging. But she was. "I know it's hard. But you have to do this for him. Please."

But Olive looked at her, her eyes welling. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't."

And Erin felt her eyes glass too.

 **AUTHOR NOTE:**

 **This contains spoilers from the premiere, as well as some discussion from the finale and some thoughts about how certain components of the storyline in the series might play out.**

 **OK. So I've had some people say that they feel like the last chapter either agreed with the concept that Erin must've dug up the body and moved it or that it was too vague and wanting to know if it was purposely vague.**

 **So the answer is that I tried to be purposely vague.**

 **My thoughts on the premiere is that I feel the writers definitely wanted to leave the impression that Erin dug up and moved the body. But I'm not sure that is what happened.**

 **I generally feel that Erin digging up the body doesn't make a whole lot of sense. A few reasons — I know some people are arguing that she wouldn't have been able to do in broad daylight (because we are shown Erin standing over the supposed grave site in broad daylight) and that she wouldn't have the strength to move that body herself.**

 **Valid arguments. But I feel a better one would be that Crowley would likely behaving that site monitored at that point to make sure no one was digging up anything or watching for them to lead them to other clues. So digging up a body at that site when Crowley is already watching them … well, that just doesn't make a lot of sense. As does the concept of Crowley not monitoring the location to enable to them to do that.**

 **That said — if the body was dug up, I don't think it happened in broad daylight. The scene with Jay and Erin in the break room starts with him saying he had been trying to reach her the night before and hadn't been able to. So clearly something happened or was happening the night before. This scene happened before we get the scene of Erin standing at the grave site. (Though, it's also possible that those scenes were edited out of sequence and it just didn't get caught). But even if it did happen in the dark — it doesn't take away from the above argument about Crowley and monitoring the site.**

 **My general feeling is this …**

 **That the episode was taking place somewhere between 3-5 days after the murder. There were some continuity things in the episode that make it seem like more — probably more like months, but that also doesn't make sense with some of the stuff people were saying ("back so soon") but more importantly with the Crowley investigation.**

 **I feel that Hank likely had this obstacle course and booby-trap set up for Crowley from the beginning. He is too smart of a guy and has been a cop too long to make really stupid mistakes like that.**

 **Erin may or may not have been involved in whatever he did or didn't do and the clean-up. But I do think Hank pulled her in in terms of the "story" that would be told to cover his ass early. Before the episode started. It was an event that took place off-screen.**

 **Obviously Erin had a lot of reason to not want to be in the same room as Hank, etc. but I think that would add to it. And it would add to some of the dialogue he had with her about talking and talking about anything and the checking in. Because at that point the ball is in motion.**

 **I do feel that Jay got involved in some way. Even if that was just to cover for Erin. The look between Jay an Voight said a lot.**

 **All that said … this show does have issues with continuity, the writers do often write themselves into corners and then try to get themselves out of them quickly and in sometimes in illogical ways that don't make much sense, and some of this could be editing choices (i.e. some scenes might have been switched around from the order thy were written and appeared int he script when they were piecing it together in the editing room for a whole variety of reasons that didn't necessarily have to do with storytelling).**

 **However, overall, as I shared with some people who asked after the finale — my general feeling is that Hank might not have killed the guy.**

 **I do feel that the premire was both ambiguous while being implicit in what happened. It's kind of an interesting balance. Because it's very obvious that Erin helped and bailed out Hank. It's very obvious that the writers want us to think that she dug up the body. But there was enough ambiguity — or at least logic errors — that I'm not sure I buy into that.**

 **Part of that comes from a writer's standpoint.**

 **Keeping the guy alive will be an interesting hook later. If they do go that way, it will likely be the mid-season/winter finale. It's a hook for over the break. It spins the season on its head and it points it off in a new direction for the second half.**

 **Part of that opinion evolved out of the actor they had playing Justin's killer. He's a notable Midwest actor who's been in several Dick Wolf shows before. He is also a "star" right now because of his lead and popular role on Power. He's a big ticket guest star — and when he's done DW shows previously, he's usually been cast for a story arc. And CPD, historically, when it casts a guest star that's a "significant" name, that person is often on for a story or character arc that seems to go about three episodes.**

 **Honestly, in the season finale, when I saw them put that man's face on the whiteboard, I had thought we weren't even going to end it with the "shooting" because it was notable. And I still suspect that we might be seeing him again. And again, my speculation would be that it will be around the mid-season break. If not, it might be during the February Sweeps or the spring/easter break. It will definitely be at a point where the audience has to wait.**

 **In terms of storytelling, it likely makes the most sense to place it at a mid-point. But it could also happen around the end of Act 2 of the season arc or could serve as the Second Turning Point or the Climax, which would place it closer to the short bring/easter break we generally get in terms of the season arc.**

 **If they do do that, I suspect we might see the chatty guy who'd seen Justin at the Social Club back and involved in all this too. The guy just had too many lines in the episodes. He also presented two very different stories about what and who he saw in his two appearances in the show. (Again, CPD has a lot of continuity issues with its writing — so take that with a grain of salt).**

 **I've heard/seen some babble about someone leaving CPD for Justice. I'm not sure how much I like that or buy into that. But if that is happening, though I know a lot of people are speculating Dawson, I'm not sure I agree he'll be the one. One being that Seda was/is a top billed actor for CPD. I can't see them moving and selling him on another show from a network standpoint.**

 **I feel if someone is to move, they've potentially started laying the groundwork for it to be Atwater, and I do feel he's one of the moves that could make the most sense. We've seen him consistently struggle with some of Voight's tactics since he moved upstairs. We've also seen that he's a ladder climber. In the premiere episode, we very purposely were given a scene with Atwater dialogue on being contacted by HQ about Voight and him showing some dilemma and feelings about that. That was left in and included. We know that Atwater is going to be promoted to detective very early in this season. And, in terms of reality, that would be very young and soon in his career to get that promotion. But it definitely would set him up for that kind of transfer. I've seen an interview with LaRoyce where he seemed to indicate that there's a lot coming up for Atwater and that he's going to have more opportunity to be powerful. I also think in terms of character, Atwater would feel like the move could make sense in the kind of work he wants to do for his city while also still climbing the ladder. Also, interestingly, Atwater was featured on the CPD season's key art. It was an interesting choice since he's a relatively minor character. He really doesn't have a very significant role since moving upstairs and often has very few lines. Other more "minor" or "supporting" characters, which Atwater technically is, weren't featured in the key art — Ruzek, Burgess, Al, Platt, etc. But a network would likely insist he be included — and it'd be smart to include him — if they will be shifting him to another series to be a prominent face there.**

 **So there's my thoughts on that.**

 **As for Burgess and Tay — I was pretty indifferent. Suppose it's decent to address some of the challenges of being a female cop in an honest way. I know she signed a three episode contract with the possibility of extension for the season. I know something is happening with her right now in terms of contract — but I'm not sure if it's on CPD or elsewhere. Based on the first episode and the story they were given, I'm not sure I'm that interested in that story. Though, I did like that we had a good, strong B Plot that was a Patrol story. We had been missing that last season in the vast majority of episodes.**

 **As for Olive leaving — saw that coming a mile a way. Beyond it being an obvious "worse possible thing that could happen" to Voight, in taking away more of his stability to potentially set him loose for part or all of the season, it was just a really obvious and predictable choice. I still felt bad for Hank. But we're supposed to. However, even though that actress is Chicago-based, she did just sign a major theatrical contract in the spring, which would potentially make her less available if they had wanted to try to draw the characters Olive and Henry into the story more. But I don't think they did. I think with where they are in terms of a series arc on storytelling terms, they do need to make Hank march into his darkness and then work at coming out the other end by the end of the series. He needs to go down that rabbit hole and become more of the anti-hero than we've seen the past couple seasons.**

 **One thing I did find interesting — as you likely picked up from the story — is that she said she's going to Scottsdale. The automatic assumption is Arizona but there is actually a Scottsdale near Chicago. So I found it interesting they didn't provide clarification on where she was going. Though, I'm sure it's like Arizona.**

 **As for Jay and Erin moving in together … that's going to be the obvious C Plot of the season. It's kind of cliche. It's used as a device to create conflict. But they're going to have a lot of conflict anyways. This entire season is going to be built on conflict between the characters in a different way than before and possibly too in your face. But the whole moving in together thing is often used in screenwriting to push those bounds of two characters and to make reveals.**

 **That said, yes, I do think they'll move in together — because, as a writer it's the obvious choice to move ahead the story. But, this isn't some happy ending. Jay and Erin will ultimately end up taking a break — I'd say likely around the finale of S4 but they might draw it out into S5. But them splitting is a necessary part of the story arc of the series and the characters' arcs too. We'll then see them try to work it out and become closer again as the series works its way to ending. However, my bet, would be — or at least what I would do as a storyteller — would be to leave it ambigious at the end of the series on just who together they are. It's not going to be a happily ever after with a ring and wedding bells and a baby. You'll have to figure out and decide on your own if they're together. That's my speculation.**

 **(And the only way there will be a Linstead baby is if during the series run Bush does actually get pregnant — and they decide to write the pregnancy and baby into the show. Which, I pray to God they don't, if she does have a pregnancy.)**

 **And since some people tend to get way too overly and irrationally emotional about Lindstead stuff - just my opinions based on my knowledge of how you create plot points, tension, conflict and resolution in storytelling. I personally don't care one way or another if they are together or not.**

 **All of my thoughts on the premiere - and CPD, in general, and where the season or the series might be going - are based in story structure. While taking into consideration genre and anti-hero trope. And then applying it in an educated guess as to what the writers MIGHT do. Or what I MIGHT do or PITCH as a writer.**

 **It's not trying to read between the lines of spoilers or getting involved with misdirects about what might or might not happen from interviews with the producers or head writers. And it's not based on some deep investment in any of the pairings on the show.**

 **So you don't need to get your shorts in a knot about any of the thoughts. These are just being presented because some people asked for my thoughts after the finale and I've had a couple requests about what my thoughts were on the premiere. So there you go ...**

 **You don't need to jump down my throat about any of it. That kind of reaction - especially when posted in a cowardly manner - really just makes me less likely to share thoughts in author notes, to reply to your DMs or to even update.**

 **Thank you to those who were curious. And thank you to those who respectfully share their thoughts - whether by DM or comments.**

 **As for the premiere as a whole, I wasn't blown away by it. But I thought it gave us enough of a feel for what we could expect this season. My hopes on that would be more case driven and having a Patrol subplot again. I would've liked if the Patrol subplot intersected with the main plot but it doesn't always anyways and in this particular episode it was used as a device to introduce character. It's unfortunate to spend that much time introducing the character if the actor's contract isn't extended and/or she's moved on to another project.**

 **I do think we have a lot of tension to look forward to and conflict -which is what drives any show. And hopefully the Linstead scenes are realistic and not too forced when they do include them in an episode, as that will be a major subplot of the season too.**

 **Though, this season will belong to Hank.**

 **I thought Beghe had some interesting moments and choices in the episode and his portrayal. And I enjoyed his final few lines and moment with Bush (not so much her monologue). I also enjoyed the scene with Bush and Soffer in the break room as well. I didn't like Bugress' chemistry with Tay as much as I did with Roman or Atwater.**

 **And, as for a couple nitpicky continuity issues with the episode …**

 **-Justin's birth on the headstone is listed as 1992. The Xmas videotape we saw in 3x10 said Xmas '88 and the child was likely at least two years old. I thought that was a weird date to pick at the time too given my estimates on Justin's age (and a little pat on the back — nailed it in these AUs based on the 1992 birthday). But with this headstone, the videotape is now from before Justin was born.**

 **-We once again got a different age on when Hank "rescued" Erin. We've heard 14 and 16 previously. Now we got told 15. They can't seem to decide.**

 **-We were told the child of the drug dealer was three years old but we could actually see his birthdate and it wasn't until Sept. 13 — so he wasn't yet three. Or .. again with other continuity issue, we're supposed to assume the episode is in late September along with us. Which doesn't make much sense to me.**

 **I'd also like to say that I saw that an upcoming ep deals with fentanyl. Which, some of you might remember, is a drug that I mentioned Chicago having a major problem with back in some of the final chapters of Interesting Dynamics. So … glad to see the show and writers are catching up on dealing with and discussing that issues … more than a year later.**

 **And, finally, I went back to the previous chapter — Collapsed Pedestal — to correct a few glaring typos that were bothering me. But I ended up adding some more text and paragraphs too. Just letting you know, because I know there's some of you that might want to reread it.**

 **I didn't get my usual readership numbers and go very few reviews on that chapter as well. Which makes me suspect some of you really hated it, some of you are waiting to read it because you haven't watched the premiere, some of you aren't reading this story until after I finish Scenes (you'll be waiting a while), some of you hated the premiere so didn't much like this either, or FF is just being funky as usual.**

 **So, again, feedback and reviews are always much appreciated. They do provide the interest and the motivation to keep writing.**

 **I am working on a new Scenes chapter but I also have one more Aftermath chapter that I'd like to get written before next week. Not sure when they'll be posted or in which order.**

 **If anyone wants more discussion on various plot points, storytelling structure and potential arcs that we might see this season and why — DM me and I can elaborate more on my thoughts or geek out where appropriate.**


	6. Fractured Reality

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

"I feel like you and Dad got a divorce or something," Ethan muttered and immediately shoved another fry into his mouth as Erin looked up from picking at her own lunch.

She stared at him for a moment.

He wasn't wrong. It very much did feel like she'd just gotten visitation with him for the day. That there'd been the awkward moment picking him up at Hank's and her staying on the front steps and refusing to go in while she waited for Eth to finish getting ready. That Hank had frowned at her and tried to make awkward small talk in the doorway that she knew neither of them wanted to make and that neither of them really needed to hear. It felt unnatural and foreign. It felt strange to not just walk into the house. To knock on the door. To stay outside. To avoid making eye contact with Hank. And then to avoid making eye contact with Ethan as they drove to their shopping destination, because she didn't want to field questions about why she hadn't come in and why her and Hank were still acting "weird", as he kept on telling her.

But she just shrugged and looked back to her sandwich. "It's not like that," she provided.

"Why? 'Cuz you're not married?" Eth put back to her. "Kids can get divorced from their parents."

She sighed at him and caught his eyes as he quickly stuffed another fry into his mouth – clearly trying to limit how much of a conversation they could actually have. "I'm not getting a kid divorce from your dad," she said firmly.

Though, maybe he was onto something. Maybe they did need some sort of way to make their cutting of ties official. The separation more real.

The thing was, though, that they were now living a reality where they'd be forever tied together. That any distance she put between herself and Hank was likely just dangerous to her own wellbeing. And it was unfair to Ethan. And she just wasn't sure it was what she wanted.

As much as she hated some of the decisions she'd had to make – some of the things she'd had to do in the past weeks – she still didn't want to give up on her family. What was left of it.

Hank might feel like she was among the few shreds of humanity – stability – that he had left. But the reality was that Hank – his family – was all she'd ever had. It was the only reason she'd lived past her teens. It was all she'd ever wanted.

And as much as there were parts of it that she didn't want anymore. That she couldn't stand anymore. She also couldn't bring herself to completely cut ties.

She couldn't do that to Hank. Or to Ethan. Or to herself.

She was learning that sometimes family ties became the rope you hung yourself with. But even then she couldn't completely cut herself free of it even if she was giving herself a cautious distance. She was giving herself time to try to figure out how to live like this and to heal – if that was even possible.

It would be a long road.

Ethan just eyed her, though, with a deep sadness and then looked down to gnawed at chicken wing bones on his plate. "You called him 'your dad' again," he said quietly.

Erin exhaled slowly and let herself settle back into her chair to really examine him. It hurt her to see him struggling with this.

She knew he'd already loss so much. She knew he was reeling to try to wrap his head around everything that had happened too. That his life was still shifting and changing in these weeks after. That it likely didn't feel very stable at home and his wounds were still raw. His own anger and confusion intermingling with his sadness and grief.

It was a lot for a little kid to handle. But she kept reminding herself that Eth wasn't so little anymore. He couldn't be. And he'd had to handle other big, hard, challenging things already in his life.

He could handle this. Maybe that wasn't fair but life wasn't fair. Their family was acutely aware of that. Neither Hank or Camille had ever pulled any punches about that with any of them. Life … the world … they weren't going to coddle you. You had to figure it out. You had to keep going. You had to live the best you could and learn how to cope with whatever the world fucking threw at you. No matter how hard it was.

And maybe that wasn't fair to put on a thirteen year old. But it hadn't been fair to put on a nine year old or a seven year old either. But they had. Life had. And he'd survived then. He'd gotten to the other end. And she had before too. And Hank had before too. Or maybe they were all still trying to get to the other end. They'd never really left the tunnel. This was just another fucking obstacle to try to find the light at the end. If such a thing really existed.

But she had to believe there was – for Eth. She had to believe that Ethan – he'd be OK, if the support was there. She just had to believe that. That if they didn't entirely abandon him – if they kept looking out for him and trying to guide him and mentor him – that he'd somehow come out of the other end of all this a still functional human being. A decent man. A good man. A better man … then they deserved and Chicago deserved and the whole fucking world deserved.

She had to hope. She had to believe. Even though she was feeling pretty pessimistic about life, the world, and Chicago these days. And the ways they chewed up the living and spit them out on the other side.

But even that hope she couldn't bring herself to correct 'your dad' right then. Because as much as Hank had been her father figure, as much as he was the man who raised her, as much as she'd spent days when she was younger wishing that he'd been her dad all along, that she had been a member of the Voight family since day one – the dynamic had shifted now. She couldn't look at Hank and just see 'Dad'. She couldn't see him as the 'Daddy' that still slipped out of Eth's mouth on occasion when he was particularly scared or hurting or confused. She could barely see him as her boss. Not the way she used to.

She used to believe that he was invincible. She used to believe that his ways were for the good of the city. That she supported his methods and his choices. That she thought they made good sense. She bought into revenge over karma. In theory.

But she'd seen part of that in action now. She'd seen Hank off the leash. And it couldn't be labeled as tactics or a loss of temper this time. She'd seen what he was capable of. The lengths he was willing to go. The graves he was willing to dig – for himself, for others … for her … and maybe even for Ethan.

And right now he'd become 'Voight'. Not the way she said 'Voight' at work. It was the way that everyone else in CPD said 'Voight'. The tone they took. The look they got in their eyes. The talk, the rumors, the knowing.

He wasn't a good cop right now. Again. He was one of the bad guys. One of the people who had to be looked at.

He was someone HQ would now be looking at constantly for a slip up. For a way to push him out. That IA would be lurking in the shadows even more than before. And if they caught him now, this wouldn't be a trip to Statesville that he'd be coming back from. It wouldn't be something he'd get to cut a deal about. He couldn't play their games or both sides – no matter how much he thought he could. No matter how much Al assured that Hank had been a cop long enough that he'd seen just about everything the city could throw at him and he'd always walked away.

Eventually there was a point that none of them walked away. And these days Erin felt like at least Hank was nearing that bluff. She just had to ensure that her and Ethan … and Jay … wouldn't be walking off the end of it with him.

So he couldn't be 'dad' right now. She wasn't sure he ever would be again. Not in the way he was before. And that hurt and scared her. Because she'd miss having her dad. She did miss having him.

But she wasn't going to lie to Ethan about who and what he was to her right now. They were still family. They were still connected. But it wasn't the same – and she knew Ethan understood that. Even though she wished he didn't have to.

"I don't understand what you two are fighting about," Ethan told her quietly.

"We aren't fighting," Erin said.

His eyes came to hers. The sadness flickered with anger. "Then why aren't you coming over? Or coming inside even?" he demanded and then his voice changed – his eyes changed – and he looked down. "I miss you," he said more weakly.

Erin frowned and gave his shin a little kick under the table and Ethan looked up accusingly but she gave him a thin, sad smile. "I miss you too," she said.

He sighed. "Then come over. Come hang out," he begged.

She shook her head. "I can't right now, Eth," she said.

"Why?" he whined.

She let out another long breath and shrugged. "I just can't," she said.

"Because of Justin?" Ethan asked. "Because there's too many memories there?"

"Something like that," she allowed.

"But there's good memories too," Ethan argued. "It's home, Erin!"

She snaked her arm across the table and tried to grab his tremoring hand. It was shaking so hard but it did when he was upset and emotional and stressed. She knew he likely hadn't been able to stop shaking since all of this. That the only way to calm it would be to get him on meds that fucked with his system in other ways. And Hank either didn't want to deal with that or had been too distracted and involved in his own grief and tangled web he'd weaved to deal with it.

But now as her brother tried to initiate this talk that he'd likely been wanting to have for at least a week – if not since that night when it'd all changed – he was tremoring violently. The table was near vibrating with it.

Still when she touched his hand – to try to offer him some comfort, to try to calm the tremor – he just tried to jerk away. But she wrapped her hand around his, holding it tightly while it shook in her grip – no stilling the movement, just making it more visible up his arm instead.

"Ethan—"

"IT'S HOME," he yelled at her and she widened her eyes in some warning at him and made a small hushing sound at his outburst in the restaurant. He only slightly listened. "Olive used the same excuse! Memories! But it's supposed to have memories! It's home! And she left! And she took Henry! And they haven't come back!"

"I know," she acknowledged and tapped her index finger against her lips to try to quiet him a bit more but she really just squeezed his hand tighter – because his face was flushed red and his eyes were glistening. He was near tears that he was likely fighting to hold in – daily … hourly. Just like her. She'd cried herself raw. To exhaustion. To sleep. "And Olive isn't going to come back, Ethan. Not right now."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because—"

"Because Dad got Justin killed and she can't stand to be near him just like you!" he screamed again.

And she crushed his hand in hers, as she could feel more eyes in the crowded Saturday mall restaurant land on the show they were putting on. "Ethan," she said sternly, "if you want to talk – here – then you need to stop yelling."

"If we don't talk here, when are we going to talk?" he demanded. "You don't come home!"

She nodded and held at his hand that he struggled to pull away from her again but she was still bigger and stronger than him – for the moment. And she wasn't going to let go. Not now. Not ever. She was in this for him. She wasn't going to loosen her grip and let him slip into that pit – that grave – too.

"We can talk," she told him, "but we aren't going to yell at each other in public. We're better than that."

He yanked hard and got his arm away from her, crossing it against him and gripping against his own bicep in a personal effort to hide or calm the tremoring that she knew much be agitating him so much, making it that much more difficult for him to cope with this all by seeing the physical manifestation of his agony and rage. And she knew that even though she didn't want to talk to Hank – she'd talk to him about this. That she'd step in the door when she took Ethan home if she had to. Because Ethan needed to be on the propranolol right now. And as much as Hank hated having his child on anxiety or depression medications, he needed that now too. He needed something to calm him – physically, mentally, and emotionally. Even if it was going to make some of his other MS symptoms worse. Because continuing on like this for much longer was just going to make everything worse – and harder.

"No we aren't," Ethan said. "He got Mom killed and now he got Justin killed."

Erin slapped the table loudly at that – strong enough to make their plates jump on them and clatter back down next to the chiming utensils. Ethan looked at her startled and she drilled her eyes into him.

"Your dad did not get Justin killed," she told him so firmly she almost shook with it, leaning forward across the table to get closer to him as she hissed it out. "Your brother got involved with people he shouldn't have been involved with and he – we – all are paying for that. Your dad had nothing to do with it. At all."

Ethan's eyes watered at her sternness but he made a teen-aged shrug and looked down into his lap. "Still got Mom killed," he muttered.

And Erin raised out of the chair at that, leaning on one elbow as she reached across the table and yanked his chin so firmly that she felt a small twinge of fear that her thumb might leave a bruise on it – but she wanted him to look at her when he spouted that kind of bullshit. To say that to her face.

"You know that's not true," she glared at him.

He struggled to get his face away from her hand and she let him – but only because she knew how easily he bruised anymore and she didn't want Hank wondering why there was yellow-green marks on his only remaining son's face when she returned him home. She sunk back down into her seat and sat there in a stare down with him. He was still shaking so badly it was hard to look at.

"Justin always said—" Ethan finally provided but she immediately interrupted.

"And if your brother was able to be here right now, Ethan, I think he'd be really regretting he'd ever spouted that bullshit," she said. "Because that's not what happened."

"It was a gang!" Ethan trembled again. "Dad worked in Gangs."

She nodded. "He did. But it was a bullet that hit the car, Ethan. It was traffic lights and a truck running the lights and …," she sighed and told the half-lie in this narrative they'd been repeating for six years now and still didn't get easier for feel entirely real or true. Just like she thought that the narrative around what happened the night of Justin's death was never going to feel entirely real or true. There was always going to be some fiction weaved into it to hide their own guilt with half-truths and outright lies. "It was a lot of things. But it wasn't your dad. He wasn't there. He didn't have anything to do with it."

"I don't believe you …," Ethan whispered and looked a way, gazing back out into the busy mall. The seemingly regular people living their seemingly regular lives. Buying crap they didn't really need.

"Then I guess you'll believe what you want to believe, Ethan," Erin said. "But, I think you're going to find that the next while is going to be a lot easier if you make yourself believe in and trust someone."

He glanced at her. "How can I do that when you don't even come over? When everyone is leaving?"

She sighed. "Eth…"

"Are Olive and Henry gonna come back?" he asked more quietly, his eyes drifting back to look at the people going by with their bags.

"Not for a while," she said. "And likely just to visit from now on."

She could see Ethan let out some slow deep breaths before he turned back to the table and slumped down in his chair, staring at his half-eaten lunch. But she supposed for him it was a lot and she doubted he'd been eating very much lately. Ethan didn't eat much even on his good days. Hank hadn't had an appetite since Camille died so who knew what he was eating or cooking at home now. The bare minimum likely.

"I don't understand," Ethan whispered. "I don't get why she left."

"Because it's not just the house that has too many memories, Ethan. And it's not about you or about your dad. It's about Chicago, OK? She has too many memories here. She's having trouble being here right now."

"But she took Henry," Ethan said and cast her a look.

"Because Henry is her child. She's going to take him with her. She's his mom."

"But that's not fair," Ethan argued. "Henry is ours too and Justin's."

"I know," Erin nodded. "But his mom needs to do what she thinks is best. And right now, she feels like they need to do some of their grieving and processing of all of this away from here."

"But then they're gonna come back?" Ethan asked.

Erin sighed and sat back in her chair again, picking at her own sandwich. It wasn't very good. But what could she really expect in a shitty sit-down chain in a mall? It'd been a miracle they could even accommodate feeding her brother.

"I don't know, Ethan," she said, though, she knew the answer that he really wanted to hear was the unlikely outcome.

"But what about Henry?" Ethan cast her those sad, questioning eyes. "I like H. He's finally starting to get kinda fun and Dad says he'll be even more fun by next year."

She gave him a sad smile. "I know," she allowed. "I like him – love him – and I'm going to miss him and playing with him too."

It was a hard admission to make because Henry had been such a struggle for her lately. Hard for her to look at and play with and see what Olive and Justin had that she didn't yet. But now she had move than them. She had what had been taken away from Justin and from Henry and from Olive – all in their own individual ways. She still had a chance for all of it. Maybe. Some day. If she could bring all of her own shit – and this family's shit – onto another person. Another child born into this bad news.

But right now all she did was ache with the knowing that she wasn't going to get to watch her nephew grow the way she'd been anticipating either. The way she'd previously been dreading over the next three or four – or more – years. But now it was all she wanted. Because she wanted to save him from that pit of sadness too. She wanted him to have that hand and net and support. And she wanted to see the bits of Justin and Camille and Hank and Ethan grow in him more. She wanted to watch him become his own little person with his own voice and thoughts and words and interests. And mistakes. And she wanted to get to be there for it. To see it. To hold his hand during some of it. To laugh at him and with him. To chastise and to hug him. And to make sure he became that really good guy that his father was – and not the guy that Justin sometimes forgot to be. She wanted to see the best of their family in that little boy and to again get a glimpse of what they were capable of being – rather than what … who … they all were.

"I like Olive OK too," Ethan said and flicked at his fries. "She's OK. Nice. Even if she's sorta weird and tries to be all MS-y."

Erin allowed a small amused noise at that and gave him a little smile and reached to hold his hand – the one that wasn't tremoring – across the table, to stop him playing with his food. This time he actually let her, lacing her fingers with his as she set their connection on the table, holding onto it tight.

"She tries hard," she told him. "She was a really great wife for Justin. She helped him grow up a lot. And she grew up too and she's still being a good wife and she's being a good mom. The best she knows how right now. It's really hard for her too, OK? She lost her best friend since high school and her husband and Henry's dad. We've got to give her some time to try to heal."

"But you don't heal," Ethan told her sadly. "It doesn't get better. Look at Dad. Mom was his best friend too and his wife and our mom and he's still sad."

Erin gripped at his hand, giving it a little shake. "I know," she said. "But it gets easier. It just takes time."

"It's been a long time since Mom died," Ethan whispered.

"I know …," Erin acknowledged. "And losing your brother now doesn't make it easier for him. Your dad is really struggling. He's really sad, Ethan."

He looked at her with such seriousness. "He's crying," he told her. "In his room. At night. He doesn't want us to know."

Her eyes glassed a bit at that but she allowed a nod. "He's trying to be strong. He's just hurting, Eth. And he's allowed to cry. It's good to let it out. That's a good way to let it out."

Eth gazed at her, his own eyes glassing over a bit. "But H was the only thing that was making him smile and act normal. And now Olive took him," he provided, his voice cracking and he looked back to his plate, pulling his hand out of hers and settling it into his lap.

"It's going to be a while before your dad acts normal again," Erin told him, dipping her head slightly to just catch his downcast eyes. "And it's never going to be the same, Eth. No matter how hard we try. So we've got to learn to find a new normal and how to live with that."

He didn't respond. He didn't even look at her. So she gave him another gentle kick under the table and he glanced at her. She gave him a thin smile at his look of annoyance.

"In the meantime, I think you do a pretty good job at making your dad smile too," she said.

"Not right now," he muttered.

She shook her head. "You do. When I was talking to him the other day, he smiled even thinking about you, Ethan. He loves you so much, and he's so proud of you. With your dinosaur app and all the stuff you're doing at camp and baseball."

He just gazed at her. His breathing was so slow and even. She knew it was likely practiced breathing exercises. Him trying to calm himself. Doing his best to follow his dad's example and only cry when no one could see. To try to be strong for those around him. But Eth didn't have to try. He was one of the strongest people Erin had ever known.

"We won our game this week," he finally told her somewhat meekly.

She eyed him at the change of topic, but maybe they needed it. Maybe they'd said all they needed to or wanted to or could manage right now. So she just gave him another thin smile.

"I know," Erin said, "you told me."

He crossed his arms somewhat protectively around himself again. "But it means we get to go to the Classics," Eth said.

She smiled a bit more at that and sat back in her chair again. "That's great, Eth. Congratulations."

"It's in Omaha," he put to her flatly and she sighed. "It's when Dad was supposed to be off and we were going to go on vacation. But I don't think he's going to take anymore time off because he says he needs to work."

Erin ran her hand through her hair, processing that. "I'll talk to him," she allowed.

And she would. She didn't know what conversations Hank and Ethan had had about this. Or what Hank might've really said. She didn't know if it was a good idea for him to be leaving the city right now or not. But she did know that all of them had put too much into getting Ethan through this baseball season to deny him this opportunity at the last minute. That that shouldn't be robbed from him too. Not when he'd worked so hard. Not when he'd accomplished so much. Not when it'd helped him physically and it'd helped him make friends. Not when he'd finally moved sort of toward being in the realm of 'normal' again. Life was already trying too hard to rob that from him. She wasn't going to be a part of that.

He didn't say more, though. He just slumped back on his side of the booth and gazed at the table again in such a defeated way. This dog that just kept getting kicked when he was down.

But she didn't know what more to say. She felt like they could talk forever and not get past the realities in front of them. It was going to be a wall that could take them a lifetime to try to get over.

"Are you done?" she asked instead. "We should likely go and get this shopping done."

"I don't want to shop," Ethan said in a firmer teen-aged tone.

Erin sighed. "Eth, c'mon," she said. "The whole purpose of this trip—"

"We got the stupid school supplies," he said. "I don't even know why. I don't want to go back there anyway."

"Well, you going to school is pretty non-negotiable, Ethan," she gave her own tone right back.

"It's uniformed. I don't need clothes," he spat.

"Ethan," she sighed and crossed her arms, "you're going to want some civies. Your dad gave me your quarterly—"

"I told you the only clothes I want are shoes," he intoned at her and gave her defiant eyes.

She shrugged. "And I texted your dad and he hasn't sent me the list of shoes approved by your physical therapist yet."

"I get to wear sneakers," he argued. "I can just wear whatever."

"You can wear whatever as long as it's on the list from your physical therapist – and you didn't bring that with you. I don't know what's on it. So we aren't shopping for shoes today," she told him sternly.

"Then I don't want to shop," Ethan said.

"OK," Erin shrugged. "But if we don't get this done today, then you'll be doing it with your dad."

"No, I won't," Ethan pushed out syllable by syllable, "because I don't want clothes."

"You need clothes," Erin glared at him. "You're going to want them for Civies Days. You're going to want them for after school and at home and with your friends and over at RIC."

He shrugged. "I'll wear what I have."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She knew that wasn't going to fly. But she just didn't feel like doing battle with him – when she knew he was just putting up a battle as a way to vent his own hurt and frustrations. She just didn't feel like playing. Hank would either handle it himself, punish him by revoking the quarterly clothes allowance or randomly buy Ethan crap he thought was appropriate – that no thirteen year old boy would ever want to wear.

"OK, fine," was all she said, though, and gestured at his plate again. "So are you done then? I'll take you home."

"No," he spat and crossed his arms tighter over himself.

"Ethan," she said calmly, "I took you out to pick up some standard supplies list and to get you some new clothes before school starts. If we aren't—"

"I thought you wanted to spend time with me," he spat at her.

She gave him a patronizing look. "Don't be like that," she told him. "You know I want to spend time with you."

"Then how come we're just doing stupid chores that Dad's making us do," he hissed at her.

She let out a long sigh. "Because I thought you might prefer to shop for clothes with me rather than with your dad," she said. "I was trying to help you both out – while spending time with you."

"When I'm like this," he demanded and shoved his tremoring arm out in the air in front of her face. "I can't try on clothes like this. It will take forever and I'm NOT letting you come into the change room to help!"

She frowned at him and reached to take his hand out of its spot dangling in the air, gripping it in hers, as his eyes glassed again. She squeezed it comfortingly as she brought it back down to the table.

"OK, I hadn't thought about that," she said apologetically and rubbed her thumb over the top of his hand. "You want me to call Jay? Then we can go look and if you see something you want to try on and need some help, he can help you out."

"No, he can't," Ethan said with a quiver in his voice. "People would just think he was some pedo trying to blow me or make me blow him or something."

"No one's going to think that," Erin said firmly, cringing at the reference her little brother had decided to make. Even though she knew he had no way of knowing just how astronomically far out of the realm of possibilities that would ever be. That Jay hearing Ethan say that even in anger and hurt would devastate him – because he knew what that did to a kid. And because he knew – more than any boy or man should – what he would do to anyone who so much as approached or looked at Ethan with those intentions.

"He hasn't wanted to hang out with me either anyway," Ethan muttered. "He hasn't come over since Justin's funeral either."

She rubbed her thumb over his hand more, even though he'd gone to looking back out the window. "It's not that he doesn't want to hang out with you, Ethan," she said. "It's that I've needed some time and space from being at the house and Jay's my fiancée, so he's respecting that – for me. It's not about you. He asks about you and worries about you all the time."

But Eth just shrugged at her. She sighed at him.

"You want to just go look at some stores? Get some ideas. You don't have to try anything on, if you don't want to," she suggested, even though that sounded like a useless trip. But at least she'd be spending time with him.

"The only store I want to look at is Best Buy," he said flatly.

She gave him a little nod and gripped at his hand. "To look at the game consoles?" she asked. His head barely bobbed. "OK," she allowed and his eyes darted to her with some surprise. "But I think that's more reason to call Jay. Because he knows more about that stuff, and he was telling me that there's new models coming out soon and if you get PlayStation you won't be able to play your Xbox games. So maybe you should think about this a bit more and hold off."

"I just want to play with my friends," Ethan almost whined but it was masked by the way his voice cracked and shoved his hand up to his face, knocking his glasses up to try to press tears back into his eyes. The maneuver caused her own eyes to sting with tears.

"I know, Eth," she said. "But you don't need to spend all your savings on a machine that's going to be obsolete in a few weeks to do that."

He hit his free hand on the table in a tight fist, his fingers pressing into his eyes more and skewing his glasses on his face. "I just want to think about something else," he crackled.

She nodded. "Me too," she said and held at his hand. "So let's find something else to think about." She watched him struggle to compose himself – not unlike his father – and kept gripping at his hand. As tightly as she could. "Want to go to a movie?" she asked. "Let's go pretend none of this is real for a while."

He wiped at his eyes and sniffled a bit but slowly let his arm come down, gazing at her with his flushed face and watery eyes. "Star Trek?" he offered.

She gave him a thin smile and a little nod. "Let's go see Star Trek," she conceded. Because their galaxy far, far away looked better than the reality they lived in.

Erin looked off into the restaurant, trying to catch their waitresses' attention and made a little gesture, hoping she would get the message and bring over their bill. But then she looked back to her brother, still holding his hand, while he stared blankly at the unfinished meal in front of him.

"This has pretty much been the worst summer ever," he whispered.

She squeezed at his fingers, her eyes still stinging too. "It hasn't been a great one," she agreed.

But his assessment was actually more accurate. She didn't want to think what could happen that would make things worse. Unfortunately she had some ideas. She was just going to have to hope they never came to be.

But that might really be science fiction.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: OK. I really don't know what's going on — if it's the story or FF or people staying with Scenes or disappointment with the premiere or just the time of year — but my reader numbers on this story are way down and the reviews and feedback are near non-existent. So, I think I'll likely be taking a break for a while. I have one more chapter that's partially finished on Scenes. I'll finish it up and post it and see how that goes but after that I might be taking some time away from these stories. I've been getting a lot of requests to revisit my Welcome Home series. So I might move over to that or just focus on other writing projects.**


	7. Making a Start

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank hadn't even gotten to the front door before Magoo was already hobbling up the stairs – headed straight for his room. Fucking Bear had heard the car out front and them making their way to the door before had. Had been his first sign that they were back. Bear – the only one who could stand him at the moment apparently – had abandoned his spot at his feet – and bolted for the front hall. Made it past him and navigated around E already to wait for him expectantly – tail and tongue wagging – at the top of the stairs. His allegiances were clear.

But it'd all become a pretty standard routine lately. Had been while Olive and Henry were staying with them. Had thought then that it was mostly his son just taking a break from the activity and noises of a one-year-old. But since Olive had taken leave with his grandson, E had pretty much been spending his life in his room. Wouldn't come downstairs until it was time to take him over to camp. Would head up there as soon as he got home – using the excuse that he needed to rest, which was likely more than true. But usually E's afternoon rests would be pretty short lived unless he really did fall asleep. Mostly he'd lay flat for a bit under his heating blanket and then reappear to flake out in front of the TV until dinner or he was badgered about screentime or chores or taking his mutt out. Wasn't the case anymore, though.

E was staying up there until he really did call at him about dinner or really did go and brow beat him into doing his chores, managing his pup. But it was always a one-way conversation. Magoo wasn't even putting up a fight or handing back any lip anymore. He'd just lay there without a word when he told him to get off his ass then get up and head passed him and back down the stairs without so much as an acknowledgement he'd been at him about any of it. Disappear back upstairs again as soon as the chores or the meal was done. Wasn't taking no screentime. Wasn't asking about getting on the Xbox or the laptop or the tablet. Just laying up there with his headphones on staring at the ceiling.

Hank had always had a whole lot of rules about his kids living in their rooms when they hit their preteens and their teens. Didn't allow it. Didn't like them bruiting about bullshit. Being up there all pouty and grey under some fucking thundercloud. Laying flat on their backs and sitting on their asses with the doors closed tight. Acting like they weren't a member of the family and didn't want to be.

But these days cracking down on Magoo about any of that had been hard. Knew his son needed time and space to grieve too. To process. He needed some of his own time and space too without constantly staring his only remaining son in the eyes. And he didn't want to badger him too much – push him away too much, put any sort of wedge between them more than there already was – because Eth was what he had left. He was the only one there. Seemed like his last remaining chance to try to fix this. To make it right. To try to keep it all from completely falling apart.

Needed to keep it from completely falling apart. Kept telling himself that. Because E was still just a kid. Only thirteen. Still had a whole lot of living to do. A whole lot of growing up to do. Still needed to get him through his last year of middle school. Needed to get him off to high school. Needed to make sure he was the first of his kids that got to actually follow through with setting foot in college – full-time, not night school, on time. And needed to make sure his son was set to find a job. A career. One where he wouldn't be burying another one of his children.

They weren't supposed to go before you. Too much of his family had already gone before him. Had come too close to having to bury Magoo already. But that couldn't – wasn't – going to happen now.

So he needed to be there. Needed to do as much as he could fix it to make sure he was there. For all of it. E still needed him. Needed to cling to that. His youngest still needed him. Was good reason to stay the course. Maybe it was his fucking only reason right now.

So he wasn't going to rock the boat too much. Wasn't going to be too much of the tough guy. Wasn't going to hand him tough love. Wasn't going to tell him to man up. Wasn't going to lecture him about behaving or listening or growing up or acting his age. Just would make himself available. Not nitpick at every rule. Not bark or growl at him.

Or at least that was the plan. And he was trying.

He watched his son's awkward gait with his crutches up the stairs. Hated him and those crutches on the stairs. Wish he'd take the one off and hold onto the railing. Wished he didn't need the crutches at all. Wished his kid was whole – not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. That there weren't all these gaping wounds and holes in his being. But there were.

"You have fun?" he called up after him.

"I guess," E muttered in weak response.

He glanced at Erin. She'd actually come in. That was progress from the morning. Wouldn't set foot in the house. Just scowled at him from the stoop. Hardly made eye contact. Hardly said two words too him. Couldn't even seem to manage to put together a good morning or a hello.

Been like that a lot. At work too. Avoiding him. Diverting her eyes when they did have to speak. Looking off into some corner or taking a real interest in the floor. Crossing those arms of her like she was having to protect herself – from him. And when she did look at him there was this mistrust, this disappointment, this accusation in him. A hatred. Because a piece of her had died too – not because her adopted kid brother had been taken from her – but because of him. Because of what he'd done and hadn't done. What she'd seen and hadn't seen. What she thought and what she hadn't considered. What he'd inadvertently or purposely forced her to do and the price she was having to pay because of that. That they were all having to pay. Because she'd followed him to those fucking Silos. Because she'd known too much and knew him too well and she'd cared enough when he wasn't in a position to be able to hear it. To feel it. So he'd sent her away. Tossed her – and her support – aside when he'd told himself he'd never be one of those people who did that to her. Not to his little girl. And he hadn't been able to stop himself.

And now they were here.

Wherever the fuck here was. That was neither here nor there.

But he did know he hated himself for driving that wedge between them. He hated what he'd done to those eyes of hers. His girl who had those dark eyes – that had seen too much too young – but that had always sparkled. That even when she'd hated him as a teenager and as a 20-something and even as a thirty-year-old grown-ass woman – there'd always been some sparkle in them, some life in them – when they were on him. There wasn't right now. Had to wonder if there ever would be.

Those eyes worried him. But wasn't just that. She didn't look healthy. She'd lost weight. Could see it in the way she was carrying herself. The way her tshirts were just hanging off her. Weight loss he could likely understand some. Knew he'd taken off a few pounds in all of this too. But it was her face that was eating at him. She was pale and just looked like plasticine. This pallor that had been lined with clay. Had seen it in her skin when she was that scrawny little kid he'd brought home too. Malnourishment.

She wasn't taking care of herself. Not eating. Not sleeping. It was written all over her. Knew it was fucking written all over them all but hers – it was starting to really worry him. Because she wouldn't listen to him right now. Wouldn't talk to him. And didn't want to hear anything much he had to say either.

Had thought about pulling Halstead aside. Telling him that he needed to get her to take care of herself. Make sure she was eating. Make her some meals. Check in on her. But he knew the guy was likely already doing that. Knew too that him lecturing Halstead on that wasn't going to earn him any points there either. And he'd only make Erin angrier with him if Jay went and told her that she'd pulled him aside and said anything.

Wouldn't make much difference even if Halstead was saying any of it, though. Not likely. Because his girl was as stubborn as fuck. Always had been. And she'd do what she wanted. How she wanted. On her terms and her own way and in her own time. That was bad enough. Made her hard to deal with. Worse, though, because she had her walls. Built them up real high and real thick. Pushed you away. And Hank knew that whatever Jay did or didn't know about any of this, she'd be trying to protect him. So she'd be pushing harder, talking less. Just digging her own hole.

Or maybe it was more he'd dug the whole for her – and he'd put a fucking banana peel in front of it. And he hadn't fucking been there to catch her before she slipped in. He might as well have fucking pushed her. And right now she wasn't too interested in him being the one to try to help pull her out.

He didn't have much business trying to do that anyways. He was in his own hole. Slipping around on his own banana peel. And he'd had to turn to his child to try to help him get out. Maybe she begrudgingly gave him a bit of a lift. But he wasn't anywhere near reaching the top. Didn't think he'd really get there until they were ready to work together again. And it sure as fuck didn't feel like that was going to happen anytime soon. Not while they were like this. But he was at a fucking loss how to fix it.

Not with Erin. Not with Magoo. Not with Olive. And he'd lost his chance with Justin.

Maybe he could try to make it up with little H. But sure felt like that opportunity had been ripped form him too.

His whole fucking foundation was crumbling. And he didn't know who to fucking call in to try to fix the cracks. To try to fucking save it.

Maybe this whole fucking house – this family – was beyond repair at this point. And that was his fucking fault. That was something he was going to have to live with.

Wasn't sure he could. But also knew that he wasn't ready to go yet – wasn't ready to go away or to hand in his badge or check out completely – because what he was right now. Who he fucking was. That's not how he wanted his children to remember him.

That couldn't be how they remembered him. It was killing him the way they all saw him right now. There was so much that none of them – E, Erin, Olive, H – they didn't see. They just didn't know. They couldn't know. They shouldn't know. They shouldn't have to know.

He was just tying to fucking protect them. To make it right. To fix this the best way he knew how.

But how do you fucking fix a whole family that's dying around you?

"Don't want to show me what you got?" Hank tried again at E. Trying to show some interest. Trying to find some kind of connection. Trying to fucking catch him before he slipped from his grip and tumbled into some goddamn hole too.

"I'm tired," Ethan muttered.

Hank let out a grunt at that as his son disappeared at the top of the stairs. His crutches still clicking down the hall and then his bedroom door clicking shut. The whole open door policy thing hadn't been working too well lately either. But it was another thing he hadn't been arguing about too much. Though, he always left E's door open when he went up to check on him. Not that Eth left it open that long after he left. The telltale click of it shutting always came by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. But at least there was no door slamming. At least there weren't locks to really lock him out of his life and this struggle.

So he shifted his eyes back to Erin and the bags she was holding. He held out his hand to take some of them and she looped a bunch off her one wrist to hand to him. Weight of it was pretty clear that it was Magoo's school supplies.

"You coming in?" he asked.

He didn't wait for an answer. He knew if he did, she'd just say no. So he started walking down the hall instead. Depositing the bags on the dining room table. Leave them there for now until he had a chance to pull the shit out and get it sorted and moved into the office – or preferably into Magoo's school bag and out of the way.

She stood at the door for a long beat. Had already started looking in some of the bags, gauging if they'd managed to find all the shit on the fucking ridiculous standard supply list. But she'd eventually come down the hall. Put the rest of the bags on the table and started working at pulling the clothes in them out. Knew how he was. Knew he'd want to get the tags off and get them in the wash and dried and ironed sooner rather than later. Get it done.

"Gone a long time," he commented, giving her a glance.

She did her best to ignore him. Kept pulling the clothes out of the bag. Piling it up by type across the one side of the table. But managed to give him a shrug.

"Took a while to find everything on his standard supply list," she muttered.

"Mmm…," he grunted. "Have to hit up a Staples and Walmart?"

"Target," Erin said. "Then took him for lunch. A movie …"

He glanced at her from his efforts. Hadn't known that was part of the plan. "What flick?"

"Star Trek," she provided flatly and he again gave her a small sound of acknowledgement. Magoo had been wanting to see that. Before all this shit hit the fan. "Then did the clothes shopping. Took him to my place so he could see Jay for a bit."

He gave her another look at that comment too. Clear suggestion that Halstead didn't feel welcome there anymore. Or more likely that he wanted to set foot in there even less than Erin did. That he didn't want much to look at him or have anything to do with him either. That work was more than enough. Though, Halstead wasn't giving him too much shit at work. Still giving him a wide breadth, though.

"Managed to get a lot," he said with a gesture at the clothes she was finishing unpack. Looked like she'd managed to get Magoo to pick out a good variety. Couple pairs of pants. Some sleeved shirts. Some button downs and a flannel. A hoodie and a couple tshirts in the mix. Spotted a NASA and Nirvana one while she was doing her organization. About summed Magoo up. Funny kid.

"Well, money goes farther when he's still in boys' sizes," she said and did cast him a look at that as she scrunched up the bags and crossed her arms. "And that wasn't something he was too happy about," she added. "Pretty upset that he wasn't graduated to men's yet."

Voight gave a little grunt and pawed at some of the clothes. Couldn't remember when Justin had started fitting into men's sizes. But the reality was that Camille would've managed tagging along and regulating his clothing shopping. Other reality was that his older son had grown and developed at a more normal and predictable rate than Magoo. And with Eth that just wasn't going to be the case.

Wasn't too sure he was overly upset about that. Sort of wanted to have his little boy for longer. To cling on to that. But was pretty clear anymore that his son wasn't so little anymore. That his final bit of childhood had been ripped from him. He was more grown up than the body he was in. Wasn't a kid. Probably more of a man than Hank wanted to acknowledge.

"Don't give him shit about those," Erin put at him bluntly and followed her nod at the pants he was touching. "All cargos are done up as joggers anymore. And maybe him having a pull-up waist isn't a bad thing." He eyed her and she shot him a glare. "For future reference, shopping on a day he's tremoring bad is pretty counter productive."

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement at that and looked back to the pants. Hadn't even realized the things had elastic in the waist and cuffs yet. But sort of stung that his daughter thought he'd bust his son's balls about that. But maybe she was right. Maybe he would've. Before. But these days? It didn't seem worth it. Wasn't worth measuring a man by his waist band.

She balled up the bags even more and dumped them on the chair. "He wouldn't shop for new underwear with me," she put to him flatly. "So you're on your own for that. And he says he needs a new fall coat and really wants to get new shoes."

Hank just nodded and she shoved her hand into her pocket, depositing a handful of one dollar bills and some coins on the table. She really didn't need to give him the change. But didn't think saying that would go over well.

"Went on the assumption that stuff wouldn't be included in the quarterly budget," she provided.

He just grunted at that. Guess it wouldn't be. Supposed it didn't make much sense putting big ticket items into the school clothes budget. His son needed a new coat and new shoes – he'd get them. Find the money somewhere to work it out.

"And, Hank," Erin pressed and he looked up again, because that was about the first time she'd actually brought herself to say his name in the past few weeks. He hoped that was progress too. But her eyes said otherwise. "He's already feeling really self-conscious about not wearing any name brands or labels – on top of still being in boys' sizes. You know how Iggy's is. You know how those kids are. So if you aren't going to find some cash in the bank downstairs to treat him to one or two shirts with whatever the fuck label on it that he thinks is the shit then you better start taking note and have it under the Christmas tree."

He just eyed her. Processed. Part of him wanted to apologize. For all of it. To fucking start at whatever those fucking kids at Iggy's had put her through. Put Justin through. But he just didn't know what to say looking back at all of it. Any of it. Just that there were a lot of things he'd wished he'd done differently. But he couldn't go back and fix any of it. It was the past. The fucking past.

"You staying for dinner?" he put to her instead. "Was going to throw some chops on the grill."

Because before his girl would never turn down one of his home cooked meals – especially pork and more especially barbecue. And then he could make sure she at least got a meal in her. Get some nourishment. Took care of her a little bit. Maybe she'd let him do that much. As a start. It had to be a start. They needed to start somewhere. To try to fucking repair.

"Jay's waiting out front," Erin said.

Hank shrugged. "Then I'll put on four."

Erin shook her head and crossed her arms. "Not tonight," she said in complete monotone, staring at him. Felt more like a glare. But he supposed at least she was looking at him. Like that, though, he could barely look at her. So he stared at Cami's painting for a moment and then looked back down to the pile of clothes. A fucking Chicago Bears hoodie. E wasn't even into football. J had been. All about the football. As a kid – playing. As an adult still watching. Hadn't managed to get to a game with his son for years and years. Not since Camille died. So expensive. But should've found the cash. Should've made the time. Gotten out there more with his kid.

Had to wonder if the shirt was about Justin. That maybe he could try to use this as some sort of leverage to connect with his younger son. That they could watch those games together. The ones that J wasn't going to get to watch. But make the calls for him.

Figured though it was more likely that it was that it said Chicago and it said Bear. And it was blue. Magoo liked blue.

At least it looked warm.

"How long we going to do this?" he asked, forcing himself to find her eyes again.

She shrugged. "Don't know."

He gave a little nod and looked back to the table, gesturing at it. "Thanks for taking care of all this."

"I did it for Ethan," she provided bluntly. His eyes rose to hers again. He knew his hurt registered in them. But she just looked away and then looked down the hall. "I'm going to go," she said.

He nodded. "OK," he allowed. "Have a good night. Good Sunday."

"Yea …," she muttered and started down the hall but stopped and turned back looking at him.

He shared her gaze, hoping that she'd change her mind. That she'd stay for dinner. That they'd try some more to talk. Or she'd just sit there in the living room. Watch some stupid fucking show with Magoo or turn on the game to stare at together. That they could just be there together for a bit. That they could be in the same house, the same room, the same space. That they might be able to be a family again – for a minute. More than just one on paper. A real one. The one they'd been. The one they really fucking needed to be to get through this.

"You need to get him on the propranolol again, Hank," she said a bit more gently – but with a firmness that nearly shock her frail looking frame. "And you aren't going to take going to the Classics from him. If you can't make yourself take him – then you've got to tell me and Jay what the fuck is going on so we can get him down there."

He stared at her. The accusation in her voice was clear. That he wasn't taking care of his son right now. That he was letting things slide and that he was letting him down. And that made him bristle. Because he was trying. He was really fucking trying. And he wasn't going to do something that would hurt his boy. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Not Magoo. Not him too.

"Anything else you want to talk about?" he put to her. "Seems like you've got a lot on your mind."

She shrugged at him and shook her head but hesitated for a moment and then said with an even greater edge, "Jay talked him out of getting a PlayStation. For now. Don't know how long that will last."

"OK, then …," he managed.

But she didn't even stay in place long enough to see his lips move. Doubt she'd heard the words come out of his mouth either. She was already turned on her heel and making her beeline down the hall. Back to the door. Back out of it. Doing her level best to charge the fuck out of his life. To get away from him.

"Erin, you can talk to me about anything," he called after her. "That you're always welcome here. You know that, right?"

Her beeline slowed to a pace and she looked back over her shoulder, her arms still tight across her. "Yea, I do," she acknowledged. "But, I can't be here, Hank," she said and shook her head. "I don't want to be here."

And then she turned and made her last few steps to the front door and she stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. Effectively shutting him out.

And he stared at it. His mouth skewed as cockeyed as his life felt anymore. He was so at a fucking loss. His kids – his two remaining kids – they were all he had left now. They were what he needed to keep from spinning out. To stay stable. To stay the course. He'd lost his son. He'd lost his grandson. And now his daughter and his youngest could hardly look at him. Hardly be near him. And, he so didn't know what to fucking do.

So he just dealt with what was in front of him – and he reached to start yanking the tags off E's new wardrobe. At least he could do that. At least it was fucking something. It was a fucking start. But in the grand scheme of things it sure as fuck didn't count for much.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Same as usual, reviews and feedback are appreciated.**

 **Thanks to those who did take the time to provide reviews and feedback after the previous chapter. The general message I got are that people weren't that thrilled with the premiere for a host of reasons — and that people are generally struggling with this story because it's too dark. Not sure what to say about that, as I don't want to make promises that it's going to get lighter and brighter any time soon. It will but it will take time. I'm going to see where the next few episodes go and how the series frames the Jay/Erin relationship and the Erin/Hank relationship before I decide how I want to structure their arcs in this story. But the overall plan is that although it will mirror certain elements from S4 that it will continue the story lines, plots and character arcs established in the previous stories from this AU.**

 **That said, this will likely be the last chapter for a while. Maybe I'll feel differently after next episode.**

 **An update was added to Scenes as well today. It might be the last there for a bit too. But, again, we'll see.**

 **Thank you to the regular readers and to those who expressed support recently and to those who regularly take the time to review or DM with comments and feedback.**

 **Also, if anyone managed to see, blow-up, or make out what neighborhood the apartment listing Jay had sent Erin in the premiere said, let me know. It looked like it said it in the subject line, but I couldn't make it out. I'd just be curious to know.**


	8. Clash

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank rapped his knuckles against the boys' … but not his boys' anymore … E's … bedroom door. Gave him a good few seconds to react and respond. Didn't know why. Could hear the music and almost feel the bass from his damn headphones from out in the hall. Still, son had his door closed – fully – so would do him the courtesy of having some minor privacy. Not rock the boat. Not get feathers ruffled too much.

But Eth didn't reply. Didn't expect him to. Knew he couldn't hear shit but what was pounding in his ears at that moment. So he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Kid was laying flat on his back. Headphones on. Phone sitting on his chest. Just staring up at the ceiling. Had to wonder if he was trying to pick out the faded constellations out too. Almost easier to see them in the light actually. The discolored flecks on the ceiling.

Seemed pretty engaged in whatever he was looking at. Whatever universe he'd let himself get lost in. Or forced himself to get lost in. Trying to send him mind off to another galaxy. Another fucking planet. Somewhere far, far way from here. Couldn't say he blamed him.

He stared at him. Bear was staring at him too. Huddled right up there next to him. His big puppy skull resting against E's hip as he gazed at him with these sad, knowing eyes. That dog had pretty old eyes. Past lives or something. Mutt seemed really atuned to everything going on in the house. Was being good company. Voight was enjoying it when he got it. When the damn mutt trailed him around and checked in on him. Flopped at his feet and put his chin on his knee and stared at him. About the only one in the family seeming to try to tell him it was going to be alright. But what did Bear fucking know? Just a dumb mutt.

Spent most of his time with Magoo anyways. Good enough. That was where he was supposed to be. Maybe it'd be the damn dog who played Lassie that would pull his boy out of this hole. Because he sure didn't seem to be doing a good job at it.

Kid still hadn't noticed him. Or was doing really good at pretending not to notice him. To ignore him. So Hank stepped into the room. Waved a call to attention at the kid but E's head still didn't turn. Eyes didn't dart. Was nearly to his bedside before his presence seemed to register.

Hank had bent a bit - about to give E's foot a bit of a shake to snap him out of it, about to set himself on the foot of the bed to try to talk t the kid. But his son noticed and flinched, drawing his foot away from the touch and his legs away from the intrusion. Giving him a glare, as he reached to pull his blaring headphones off his ears.

The move made Hank flinch internally a bit too. Had thought him and E were doing OK. But since Olive had left and taken H along with her, it sure as fuck didn't feel OK between him and Magoo. Whatever E might've been reserving judgment on had seemed to fade. His anger – at him – was coming to the surface and he was pushing.

But Hank was trying not to push back. Was really trying. He couldn't be that beast with this kid. He had to keep his touch soft and his voice even. He couldn't make the situation worse than it was. But it was a struggle. A balance. Really just wanted his little boy. Needed him. And wasn't used to just sitting back when one of the kids was being disrespectful. But knew in his heart that E had a whole host of reasons not to respect him much right now. That fucking stung too.

So the least he could do was try to respect some of his wishes. Some of his personal space. Could try to respect – honor – that.

So he straightened from his attempt to sit with his boy and went over to his boys' old wooden desk and retrieved the battered wooden chair, twisting it in his hand as he picked it up and set it a few feet from E's bed.

"You know you're going to blow out your eardrums if you keep listening to your music that loud," Hank commented at him, as he took a seat in that fucking uncomfortable chair. Flashback to sitting in detention the way it felt against his ass. Had a feeling his son had him in some kind of detention too.

Kid barely gave him a glance at the comment, though. Just reached to pick up his phone. Paused the music and the blaring beats stopped blasting out of the headphones. But then let the thing fall back on his chest and he moved his hand to struck at his mutt's head. Bear lifted it up a bit and panted at him appreciatively.

"What you doing up here?" Hank put to him.

"Listening to music," E muttered without giving him a look. Just staring right down at his pup.

"Mmm …," Voight grunted in acknowledgement of the obvious – and obnoxious – answer. But eat it again, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching back a bit in the chair. "Seems like you been doing that a lot lately."

Probably too much. But the kid just shrugged at him.

"What you listening to?" he asked instead.

"Music," Ethan hissed out – at his dog – not him.

Voight smacked but held himself steady and gestured at his kid. "Some band? An album? Or just some playlist or something?"

E gave him a small glance. "The Clash," he said flatly.

Hank made a quiet, amused sound at that and crossed his arms, a little tighter, looking down at the ground for a moment. Trying his best to hide his amusement. The small smile that he'd felt tug at the corners of his mouth at that. About the only smile he'd felt in days – not since Henry had left. But E did an OK job of it too. Just not lately. Now, though, just being reminded of what a funny kid he was. Just didn't want him to think he was laughing at him.

"Why's that funny?" the kid was already demanding of him, though. "Erin has a bunch of their records."

Hank brought his eyes back up to his boy, composing himself, and gave his head a little shake. "Not funny," he said. "Know Erin's got them. They're mine."

E gazed at him – processing that tidbit. Those gears shifting in his head. Likely making a decision about now if he suddenly hated this newly discovered band of his. Now that he knew where those albums had come from.

"Most of the records Erin's got over there are mine," he put to his boy. "And your mom's."

E's eyes darted at that. "Her and Jay got to vinyl stores all the time. And the flea markets and antique shops. They buy lots."

Hank gave a shrug. "Sure. I know. But doubt they've managed to fill all those milk crates since Christmas. And know for a fact that any of The Clash she's got there is out of my collection."

E's eyes gave him a careful examination but then looked back to his dog, tugging gently at his ears.

Knew that E didn't much want to look at him right now. Knew that right now he didn't want similarities they had pointed out. Maybe Hank didn't want them pointed out either – to be in his face. Because he didn't want his son to be him. Didn't want him to grow up to be like him. Wanted him to be better than him. Happier than him. A different kind of man.

"You don't seem like you'd listen to The Clash …," E mumbled.

Hank shrugged. "Guess we're all different people when we're young. Just a kid still when their first album hit over here. Still in high school."

His son gave him a look. "Did Mom like them too?"

"Oh, yeah …," Hank said, feeling another little smile tug at his lips.

"It seems like something Mom would've liked more than you …," he muttered.

He gave a shrug. "There's other punk albums in those crates," he offered instead. "Can point you in their direction."

He gave him some side-eye. "Like Green Day?"

Hank did let an amused noise slip at that. "Don't know I'd call them punk. Not like we had in the '70s and early-'80s."

E looked at him. "J called them punk."

He allowed his son a thin, sad smile. "Yea. He liked them a lot growing up."

"Because you liked The Clash?"

Hank shrugged. "Don't know. Likely more they were just a band more out of your brother's and sister's generation."

"They still are a band …," E mumbled. Voight allowed a grunt of acknowledgement at that. "Their new album comes out October seventh," he said quietly. "Justin wanted it for his birthday. But Olive said she did better than that because she got tickets to their opening show in St. Louis. It was going to be a surprise."

Hank frowned and let out a slow breath, looking at the ground again. "Think J would've really liked that," he managed.

"I don't know what she's gonna to do with the tickets now," E said quietly. "It's not like she can get a refund."

He brought his eyes back up to his boy and watched him petting at his mutt. Tried to figure out what to say. But he wasn't a man of too many words on even his best days. These days he just felt at a loss of what to say most of the time. It wasn't even a lack of words. It was that there just weren't any words for any of this bullshit.

Part of him wanted to tell his boy that he'd talked to Olive. See if she'd be willing to pass along the tickets rather than eat them. That he'd take his son down to see the show. That they'd go and watch it for his oldest. See – together – another thing he was missing out on. Just another thing that was being taken away from him.

But didn't think that in that moment it was something his youngest would want to do with him. Didn't think Olive would want to hear from him yet. Sure hadn't been picking up the phone or returning his calls the past week and he just didn't know how to deal with any of that too. Trying to give her space too but he really didn't want her – and his grandson – to slip away from him. They were already too far out of reach and it just made him feel like he was flailing around.

Besides, if Olive was anything like him, she'd want to keep those tickets. Would eat the cost just to keep a hold of them. Wouldn't want to pass them on to him and E. Probably wouldn't want to go herself either. They'd get tucked away. Something kept and held onto. Put in some box or some drawer. Pulled out every once and a while. Looked at. Remind you of all the things you lost in so many different ways.

Thing was, he wasn't sure Olive was that much like him. Not really like him at all. And maybe that's why she'd been good for Justin. Maybe it was why she'd be good for Henry. Raise him right. Away from all of this. Away from him. Keep him from getting wrecked and broken too.

"Sure she'll figure something out," Hank allowed flatly but then shook his head and looked more directly at his boy. "It's feeling real quiet around here this week, E. You locking yourself up here."

E just shrugged at him. So Voight just puckered at him, skewing his mouth – still trying to find some sort of common ground.

"Don't feel much like cooking," Hank offered. "Thinking maybe we could go over to Carmine's—"

"It's too hot for pasta," E interjected.

"Hmm," Voight allowed. Supposed spending a lifetime kicking around the boundaries of Little Italy and married to an Italian, he'd never really gotten to the point that he defined when pasta was acceptable dining based on the weather. Besides other things on the menu besides pasta. But wasn't going to argue the point with Magoo.

Wasn't that hot in the house, though. Wouldn't be that hot in the restaurant either. Had broken down in his days home. Everyone was upset enough. All of them in their own personal hells. Didn't need the house to feel like they were in Dante's Inferno on top of it. Had gone and got some modern fucking portable air conditioners for the house. To finally try to cool things down. Cool all their heads and their heels. To try to level them all so they could think any process.

Wasn't sure it'd really helped. Though it was slightly more livable in the house.

Hadn't helped going back into work to find out the shitty A/C in the building was on the fritz. Had lugged the pieces of shit in from home then. At Al's insistence. Seemed to think he'd be able to get them set up in the bullpen. Guy finally got to see what kind of pieces of shit he'd lent him. Kept telling him that it didn't matter how much you fiddled with the damn knobs, wasn't going to cool down the space worth shit and it was still going to sound like they were in a fucking air tunnel or sitting in a tractor trailer with all the rattling.

Fucking O. Kept trying. Kept insisting they'd worked when he'd lent them to him a year ago. Bullshit. Things had been sitting in his garage so long when he'd claimed them it'd been a chore just to get them to turn on – and they sure as fuck hadn't worked worth shit. Free shit didn't mean good shit – that's for damn sure.

"Well, what about going down to the beach. Get some of those fish tacos you like. Toss the ball around a bit for Bear. Take a dip," Hank tried again.

E gave him a look. "Dad, I'm tired," he put bluntly.

Hank let out a slow breath and allowed a little nod. "Yeah, OK …"

He eyed his son – watching the hand that wasn't petting at Bear. The one he'd shoved into the ass pocket on the back of his shorts – like he always did anymore – to try to hid the fact it was shaking. To get it out of sight and to put pressure on it to try to get it to stop. But Hank could see his son's arm still twitching with the uncontrolled movements.

He sighed and scrubbed at his face and then gazed at him some more. "Erin told me that you were shaking pretty bad while you two were out," he provided. "That it made shopping a little hard."

He just shrugged. "We got stuff …"

"Mmm…," Voight grunted. "Said there's still a few things you need."

"Just underwear," E muttered. "Don't know why you can't just buy that. Why I hafta be there."

Voight shrugged. "Sure, can stop and pick you up a couple packs. But don't know what characters you want on your underoos." E shot him a glare and Voight just allowed him thin-lipped smile. "Was supposed to get a smile out of you, Magoo."

"It wasn't funny," E said.

Voight nodded and rubbed at his eyebrow. "OK …," he allowed. "Well, Erin said you thought needed a new jacket for when the temperature starts to drop. New shoes."

"And we coulda gotten that stuff when we were out if you answered your texts or phone," E said with complete tone. The kind that would normally send him jumping down his throat. But he only met himself sit straighter, crossing his arms tighter and giving his boy a stern look.

"Answered," he provided.

"We were done at the mall by then," E muttered. "Why weren't you answering your phone anyway?"

Voight held onto himself tightly and looked at the floor. "Went over to see …," he sighed and looked up at his boy. "Your brother. Your mom. Grandma and grandpa."

"All day?" E spat at him. Voight just grunted and looked back at the floor – mostly to hide his eyes from his boy. Or at least hide what they were doing. Couldn't keep getting teary in front of his son. He was supposed to be the parent – the man –in this relationship. "Why do you keep going there anyway?"

Hank brought his eyes back to his son. "Guess because I feel like it helps me be near them, son."

"It's not even them there," E spat even harder. "It's just their rotting bodies. Holes in the ground. Stupid gravestones! They're dead!"

Voight felt his eyes sting more at that assertion. The fierceness of it coming out of his son's mouth. The attack on him. On them. On what was left of their family.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes for a moment. Pressing back the glaze and then looked back at his son's face. Flushed with anger and glaring at him.

"Ethan, son," he put to him calmly with a little nod, "I really need us to be OK. OK?"

"It's not OK," Ethan rasped hard. "Mom's dead. J's dead. Olive and H left and you and Erin are fighting. None of that is OK!"

Hank nodded. "I know," he acknowledged. "None of that is OK. But that doesn't mean that we can't be OK. I'm really trying to make things OK between us. Make things right."

"No you're not!" Ethan yelled.

Hank glared at him for a long beat, his fists clenching under his crossed arms. His jaw tightening. His eyes glassing. His son could cause his blood pressure to spike –his heart to pound – in a way few other things he'd seen and dealt with in life could.

"Then you need to help me understand what I need to do to make things better between us, Magoo," he put to him flatly.

"YOU CAN LEAVE ME ALONE!" Ethan yelled and smacked at the mattress under him, causing Bear to lift his head and let out a yelp.

"Ethan—" Hank warned.

"GO AWAY," Ethan seethed. "I want to be alone right now!"

Hank sat there. It felt like time slowed down. Like it was moving in slow motion. Like he had all the time in the world to figure it out but that it was all slipping by so quickly. And he just didn't know what to do. How to not push him away more. How not to make this worse than it was. How to fucking fix this.

So he didn't even try. He just listened. Because maybe if he'd listened to his other two children when they were Ethan's age – maybe if he'd listened to them as adults – they wouldn't be where they were now.

He rose and returned the chair. Ethan had gone back to staring at the ceiling when he turned back around. But now it wasn't just his hand that was tremoring anymore. His body was. His lip. His face flushed and even from across the small room, Hank could see his boy's eyes were glassing in his fight not to cry.

"You're allowed to be upset," Hank told him. "And you're allowed to cry."

"I'm not crying," Ethan said but his voice cracked and sputtered as he said it.

Voight just allowed a little nod. Didn't call him out on it. But did move to the bed and this time ignored the flinch in his boy when he neared. He leaned down, running his hand up his son's forehead and then resting it on the top of his head, as he planted a single, brief kiss there and then straightened.

"Ethan," he graveled at him, looking down on him. "And you're allowed to be mad at me. Mad at the world. Fucking mad at all this bullshit we've been handed. That you've been handed. But, I need you to know that I'm going to keep checking in with you. Because you're one of my favorite people in the world. One of the best things in my life. And, I love you. So be mad. Be real fucking mad. But know that I'm here for you. When you're ready. I'm not going anywhere. No matter how mad you get or how hard you push. I'm still here and I still love you."

E just tilted his head away – so he really didn't have to look at him. So he could try even harder to hide his tears. But Hank respected that too, stroked his hand down the rest of his hair.

"Almost time for your pills and injection, E," he said, as he moved to the door. "Want you to come down in a bit. Get some food into you."

E didn't respond but didn't much expect him to that time either – even though the music wasn't blaring in his ears anymore. Knew the kid's ears were still ringing for a whole to of reasons. Hank's were too.

So he stepped outside the door – but he didn't close it. Couldn't bring himself to. He needed to keep as many doors open as possible as he could.

And he'd only reached the top of the stairs when he heard a sob rattle out of the room and it just made his eyes water more.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Still will likely be taking a break. Honestly, there's probably not going to be too many updates in October in either story.**

 **As usual feedback and reviews are much appreciated.**


	9. Lifeline

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

"OK, here's the plan," Jay said, letting the measuring tape slide back into place as he looked back over his shoulder at Erin as she tugged at the latest microbrew they were giving a try. Seemed like they were doing a lot of that lately. Knew it wasn't just the never-ending August heat and humidity that was giving them the excuse either. "We take down these posters and we install a sixty-five inch flatscreen – right here."

She cocked her eyebrow at him and pointed with her one index finger. "Those are signed by the bands," she told him firmly.

He glanced back at them to look at the prints that didn't mean much of anything to him. Sure she'd likely played them for him. Or that she'd gone and sit in some live music venue and watched them play when she was likely under-age and toting around fake ID to find trouble and get into places she wasn't supposed to be. Likely talking a fucking fine line to stay out from under Voight's radar at home. But knew she'd learned his tricks just as much as he'd learned hers. She could fly under the radar when she wanted too. Maybe too well.

"And that's where my turntable is set-up," she added while he reassessed her decorating choices.

She had such weird-ass fucking decorating choices. Random bands that no one had ever heard of as some excuse of supporting the local Chicago scene. Random books that proved again that she favored used bookstores and garage sales and flea markets and antique shops rather than ever setting foot in a Barnes and Noble. There were more James Patterson's on that shelf (why anyone would want to display that they read that shit?) than any person should read in their lifetime, intermingled with fucking accounting textbooks (which she'd apparently failed miserably in night school) and then there were the random animal books (Horses of the World? Really?) and atlases. She fucking loved atlases and maps. Could pour of them. He wasn't sure he quite got that but it was a part of her. Likely part of her daydreaming of running away, which was only complimented by all the random shit from every country in the world that she'd never fucking been to pulled out of flea markets and antique stores and the fucking curb. And yes, he could still fucking believe that someone had thrown away the ceramic monkey skull that occupied her shelf. It was fucking creepy. Anyone would agree that it was fucking creepy. Accept for Ethan. Who seemed as enchanted with it as her and had stated on more than one occasion that he wanted to claim it when she got sick of it – while also begging her to get him one for his next birthday or Christmas. A feat that Erin wouldn't guarantee because it was a "one of a kind". That was fucking right. One of a kind that should've been left in the trash where she'd pulled it from.

"You mean it's your display shelf for Ethan and Bear?" Jay said instead at her stereo and music set-up, picking up the framed photo off the cabinet and flashing at her.

She shrugged and took another tug at her beer. "They're good looking boys," she provided.

Jay nodded and looked photo for a second. Couldn't really say that was the way the kid looked these days. Been one from the spring. Back around likely the start of ball season. When Voight hadn't been able to get the kid out of that fucking Cubs jersey with his name on the back. Kid was so fucking proud of that thing. Nearly as proud of his dog. Dog likely nearly as proud of him too. Kid's arm wrapped around that thing. Snuggled right up to him like they'd been best buds their whole lives. Both just smiling puppy dog and little boy smiles.

It was a good shot. Different times. Hard to believe it wasn't that long ago.

A whole lot of the spring had been spent over in the parks tossing the ball to the kid and to the dog. Kid had seemed pretty happy back then. Seemed like he was on track for a pretty normal summer. Maybe even getting set up to start off his teens right. Have some friends. Have some activities. Didn't know any of that looked that way anymore. And the kid he'd seen that afternoon sure didn't even look like the bright-eyed, smiling kid in the photo anymore.

He frowned a bit and put the frame back down, gesturing across the room to where she was standing only to realize she was in front of the bookshelf unit and the faux mantel thing that she seemed to love but he wasn't so sure about. At all. So he gestured to the hall … more like the hallway … passed it.

"And all of this will look just as good over there," he contended.

"Jay …," she warned, frowning at him.

He walked back across the room to her and she came to meet him – clearly trying to get him away from any of her walls or shelves or mantle pieces. "Because I've got an install guy and he's an artist. No wires. Nothing," he assured.

She gave him a smile at his efforts and invaded his space – once again clearly trying to distract him from the mission at hand. And it was pretty easy to distract him with that tank top she had on. The way the humidity of the day was making it cling to her in all the right places. That black lacey camisole thingie peeking out – just asking for him to reach out and fix it … preferably by just getting it off her.

"Easy …," she told him.

He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Yea, I know, I can't really force a man cave on you."

"We'll figure it out," she allowed. "One room at a time," she added and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm just glad you're going to be here."

He grinned a little at that – kind of involuntarily – even though he could tell from the way she was leaning in that this was just another part of her distraction tactics. Confirmed as she captured his lips in hers. But he didn't protest. He'd take it.

Well, he almost took it – but then right when she was moving in to make it deeper, clearly ready and willing to take this to the next level and the bedroom – he called it off – stupidly – and broke the cast, gesturing back to the wall again.

"But Eth does have a point," he said.

"Jay …," she sighed with some exasperation and ran her hand through her hair, giving him an annoyed look. "Since when does Ethan have a point about anything?"

"That wall is perfect for a TV," he contended, flapping his arm again.

Erin rolled her eyes and let go of his waist, moving beyond him to retrieve her bear where she'd left it on the mantle and to then slouch into couch. She glanced at the wall behind her and then looked at him, as he came over and joined her, resting his arm along the back and looking at the wall too. The posters, the shelving unit that''d become a turntable stand and vinyl storage – milk crates shoved into each of the cabinets.

"I don't understand why anyone needs a TV that big," she muttered.

"One," Jay told her. "It's not a TV –it's a flatscreen. And two – Erin, football and hockey season. Do I need to say more?"

Her eyes drifted to him. "So I need to have a giant monstrosity on my wall and I need to endure football and baseball on top of baseball?"

"You like watching the Hawks," he protested.

She rolled her eyes at him and took another tug out of her bottle, tucking her feet under herself and turning back to look at her sad little thirty-two inches up on top of the mantle. It definitely didn't make for optimal viewing of anything. Not sports, not movies, not his fucking Hi-Def documentaries. It was something that needed to resolved when he moved in. She at least needed to let him setup his entertainment system. Superior to hers and even his needed some major updating to get on with the times.

"And, if Ethan gets the game system—" Jay added but her eyes flew back to him and gaped.

"You just talked him out of buying one this afteroon," she blurted.

"No," Jay said shaking his head. "No, no. I talked him out of getting a PlayStation. The Xbox One S—"

"Ethan spends his money on that thing, it is not getting set up here," she said. "It's not even coming here to visit, Jay."

"C'mon," he argued back. "There are some a-maz-ing games coming out in the next few months. Forza," he counted off on his fingers. "Madden, …-"

"Since when do you even play videogames?" she spat at him.

"Umm …," he put cocked his eyebrow, "since I started doing babysitting duty with my fiancée's kid brother. I think?"

She returned the cocked eyebrow at her – this time in clear annoyance at him. And rather than replying, she took another long swig of her drink.

"I've played videogames since I was a kid, Erin," he told her more seriously.

She gazed at him. "And you stopped because they were violent and you were a loner and you were spending way too much time on them when you got back state side."

He sighed at her and grabbed his own beer, taking a sip himself. "I'm not saying that we should let Eth play any of the violent games or the first-person-shooters or whatever. I actually think that's a pretty decent rule Voight's got. But …" he raised his eyebrow at her again.

"I might consider a 'flatscreen'," she purposely spouted at him with sarcasm. "But I'm not doing you and Eth scratch your balls on the couch all weekend playing some stupid … whatever … thumb-exerciser."

"You know there is some way to avoid you having to look at any of that," he said, leaning forward and shaking her bare foot a bit. It was really cold. Supposed that happened when you left the thermostat set at its lowest possible setting for the day and the A/C managed to get fixed while you were out and pumped Arctic air for hours. But at least they weren't baking. He wouldn't even say they were shivering in it. It actually felt really nice after the temperatures they'd been enduring.

"Yeah, you have your videogame playdates somewhere else, Jay," she said.

"Or …," he said, cocking his eyebrow again, "rather than us staying here, we go look at that townhouse, which has its whole own room on its whole own floor that you could relegate me, Eth and videogames to. And maybe even me and the Hawks."

She sighed. "Jay …"

"Erin, c'mon," he put to her. "I really think you should come take a look. It's amazing. Three bedrooms like we talked about. Lots of space. Amazing deck. Modern bathroom and kitchen. Got the stainless steel appliances like you like. Washer-dryer combo. Parking. Really close to the park and like four blocks from Ignatius."

"So, like four blocks from Hank too," she muttered and took another swig of her beer and looked away.

"More like six," Jay contended and gave her foot another shake. "Stax is like right across the street. I know you love some Stax pancakes. Could take you for breakfast every day we're off sked." She still didn't look at him. He shook her foot again. "OK. Three Aces? Right there too. Pizza and rock and roll. Can't go wrong with that. Get you some more signed posters for all the wall space we'll have to fill."

She sighed loudly and brought her eyes back to him. "Jay … I just …"

He frown at her. "If it's about the downpayment, you not wanting to take the insurance money that Voight offered us – that's fine. I got approved for that loan and if we … you … sell here, we'll be OK. We'll make it work. We can do this. Afford it."

She looked up at the ceiling. "I just … think I should stay put for a while."

He sighed at her and nudged forward on the couch a bit, getting close enough to her that their kneecaps touched and he could reach and hold her hand where it was resting on the back of the sofa.

"Erin," he said firmly, "I know you need space from Voight. I get that. I want it too. But Eth needs you. He needs us. We both saw today how much he's struggling right now. He's going to need somewhere to go when he needs space from his dad too. We want to make sure it's somewhere safe. And we want to make sure we're in a position to be there for him. So he's not spinning out or digging some hole. This place – the townhouse – it makes sense. It might not be everything we'd imagined or hoped for. I know it's not one of the neighborhoods we were looking at – but it's pretty nice. I really think you should come with me to the open house. Just come check it out."

She gazed at him and then shook her head looking down at their knees. "I feel like all the chips are still falling and I still need to see how they land. Let everything settle before I make any big moves."

"Erin," he squeezed her hand, "we can't just stop living. We can't put our lives on hold because Justin's gone and because Voight is …"

Jay sighed and shook his head. He didn't know what Voight was. He wasn't quite unhinged right now. He was surprisingly calm and focused at work. But he was different. And even knowing what he did know – which was enough – he was hard to be around. Hard to look in the eye. And it was even harder when he saw Erin hurting –her struggling – and her struggling even more to let him in and verbalize to him what she was going through. But he had enough of an idea.

"We just can't spend our lives dodging his booby traps, Erin," he put to her. "They're for him. They aren't for us. Let him deal with them. They're his problem. Let's deal with ours."

"It hasn't even been a month …," she muttered, and threaded her hand up through her hair.

"I know," he acknowledged. "It's not long enough. But, Erin, we both know something like this –there's never going to be long enough. So let's deal with the things that are important to us. That's something we can do. We can deal with our relationship. Getting our house. Living our life. Being there for Eth. That's things we can do. Can worry about. Can work on."

She eyed him. Too long. The banter had stopped. The teasing looks she'd had since they'd tucked away Chinese takeout that they'd picked up on the way home from dropping off Eth had disappeared. The sadness was there again. The pain. Was there a lot anymore and he was really struggling with trying to help her deal with it.

But he was trying. He was really trying. Trying to be there for her to talk to. Trying his best to distract her when they were home. Trying to help keep her focused and not get overwhelmed with the everyday sadness while they were at work. Just taking it all one step at a time. Day by day. Minute by minute. They could do this.

They just had to keep taking those steps. They were going to be OK. They'd gotten through other stuff already. Hard fucking stuff. Harder stuff than most married couples had to see – get through – even in whole marriages. He knew that. He felt it. They'd fought for what they had. And they had a hell of a summer. And, Jay knew they were still in for a hell of a ride.

Things weren't exactly getting easier. He didn't think this was ever exactly going to be easy. But he supposed he'd never expected it to be easy. Erin didn't make things easy. She'd always made him work for it. All of it. Partnership, friendship, relationship, fiancée. He'd worked for it. But it'd been a labor of love. He loved her. And he wasn't going to step away from her – give up on her. On this. On what they had – because it was hard. What they had was too good – too right – despite being hard to walk away from.

So they'd just keep going step by step. And they'd just have to keep knowing when to grab the other before they fell. Pick them up when they were down.

And that was what he was doing. It was what he'd keep on doing as long as she let him. And she was going to have to fight him when she decided she wasn't going to let him anymore. Because he wasn't going to let go of her hand easily. He wasn't going to let her fall into any kind of hole no matter how much she thought she wanted to. She wasn't going to go down alone.

They were in this together. Whether she liked it or not. When she liked it or not.

She sighed as she looked into his eyes. "You know I'm crazy about you. Just completely in love with you."

His eyes grew with some surprise. Not that he hadn't heard her say 'I love you' before. But she hadn't put it in quite those terms before. Yet something about it sounded kind of defeated. Like a lifeline she was throwing up to try to keep from drowning. A blurted plea that she needed him to understand. Like she thought he didn't understand.

But he did.

He was completely in love with her too. He was crazy about her. He'd been intrigued since day one and he'd been down since she caught onto the whole Scrabble thing. The way she busted his balls. The way she made him a house husband. He didn't care about any of that. Out of her he loved all of that.

And right now he knew that some days – some minutes and hours – it felt like they were drowning. It felt like it when they lost the baby. It felt like it again when Justin got shot in the head. It had been feeling like it in all the fall out.

But their heads were above water. And they weren't just treading. He knew they weren't. They were swimming. They could manage this on their own. They could get back to solid ground together. They didn't need a lifeline. Together they didn't fucking need one. Not as a unit. As a family.

"I love you too," he assured her, scooting closer and moving his hand to grip her shoulder before reaching and cupping her cheek.

Her eyes stayed on his. "You're the only one I trust right now," she whispered.

He nodded and moved even closer to her, this time wrapping his arms around her, and her moving to wrap hers around him. Her face burying in the crook of his neck. Her breath so hot there he knew she was near tears again. But he'd take the tears because he knew that it was when the tears stopped that he really had to be concerned. When you taught yourself not to feel any of it – that's when there was a problem. He didn't want her – them – to get to that point. They couldn't. He stroked at her hair.

"So trust me," he whispered and placed a kiss against her neck.

She had to trust him. It's the only way they were going to get through all of this. They could do it. But they had to trust each other for any of it to work.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The chapter before this one (CLASH) was posted earlier today. So this wouldn't likely be bumped. So please make sure you check to make sure you didn't miss it.**

 **Reviews and feedback are always appreciated.**


	10. Just No

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Jay glanced over as Will came up the steps of the bleachers, still looking more than half-asleep, and plopped his ass next to him. He immediately took a slurp of his Dunkin' Donuts coffee and half held out a box of Munchkins at him. Jay gazed incredulously at it and then turned his attention back to the baseball field and Eth's squat behind home plate. Dunkin' Donuts and Will's typical look of anger and cynicism intermixed with woo-is-me wasn't much of a good morning. So he didn't give him one either.

"For a doctor, you sure eat like shit," Jay muttered at him.

Will just shook the open box. "All I can afford. You're lucky I'm sharing. This has to last me all weekend."

Jay just shook his head. Not so much at the proffered donuts as at his brother.

He was getting sick of hearing about Will's money 'problems'. To hear that living beyond his means and making hot-headed choices at work had finally bit him in the ass. Apparently he was supposed to have sympathy. To understand what it was like. But Jay wasn't sure he did. At all. If anything, the moans he'd been hearing out of Will the past couple months were just grating at him and proving how different they really were – when it'd seemed like they'd spent the last couple years trying to find some sort of similar footing to have a relationship again. But Will usually found ways to throw in his face that their differences often outweighed their similarities.

They were a different kind of righteous. And self-righteous. Their hearts-in-the-right-place were in different places. Their morals and grey areas and right-and-wrong were defined by different calculations.

They were different people. Even if they were blood. Even if they were brothers. Even if they'd been raised in the same house.

But spending time with Erin – with her family, with the Voights – had taught him a whole hell of a lot about what any of that meant and didn't mean anymore. So had Afghanistan. So had the Rangers.

Will didn't have that. Or he hadn't woken up to it yet. Maybe he didn't want to.

You'd think he would've learned something about it just from their growing up. That the kind of mess living beyond your means could leave for you to clean up. The sort of situation it could leave you living in. But apparently that was a lesson that had gone over his head too. Something that he was more than likely oblivious to at the time – as the favored son.

Or maybe he'd just had too many years living in extravagance and excess in New York to have fucking clued into how the rest of the world lived. Dating and partying with models. Injecting Botox into the lips and foreheads of old men's breast enlarged wives. Sitting in a private practice that looked more like a spa than a medial office.

Come back to Chicago was supposed to help him erase all that. Move passed it. Settle back into reality. In to real life. Into who and what they were. What his standing in life really was. Not living as what he wasn't. Acting like who he was and who he was meant to be – and who he could be and should be – rather than acting and living as that completely prick that he'd managed to be at least through his 20s. Jay wouldn't say it'd really improved in his 30s, but he'd come to accept Will for what he was. The good and the bad. He was his brother. Love him or hate him. Which seemed to vary from moment to moment and day to day and week to week and month to month and year to year.

He was a fucking pain in the ass. But he supposed he was his.

It's just that that equation was supposed to be the other way around. He was older. It was Jay who was supposed to being the pain in his ass. Not Will being the pain in his. Though, he supposed he had the older brother prickly asshole niche down to a tee. He'd give him that.

Still. Two fucking years back in Chicago – almost three – and he still hadn't seemed to settled completely in reality. He had only changed – matured – so much. You'd think he'd been back in Chicago enough now that he'd have seen enough of the disparity in the city – and in the E.D. – all the fucking problems and challenges that the city had, that he would've adjusted to his reality.

But apparently not.

Apparently he hadn't clued into the fact that medical student debt wasn't suddenly going to disappear when he was hired as a staff doctor at Med. He hadn't done any sort of calculations to realize that his chief resident's pay checks were only going to increase so much even when he was on staff.

Maybe he hadn't clued in that his fucking two-bedroom condo -in a sparkling new development in a sought after and gentrified area of the city that was attracting the kind of 30-somethings just like Will or who will wanted to at least look like. That that condo might make him look 'successful' to his whoever it was he was trying to impress, but it wasn't something he'd be able to continuously afford.

Only he couldn't actually afford it to begin with. And really couldn't now. Not after the bills caught up to him. Not after he needed malpractice insurance. Not after he had lawsuits hanging over his head. Not when he wanted the nice car and the latest and greatest electronics and the trendy threads that he looked ridiculous in. But still likely less ridiculous than he'd looked when he was living in New York.

But it all just felt like he was still – after all this time - trying to hide that they'd been born and raised in fucking Canaryville, no matter the optics that their father had employed to try to hide that legacy. That Will was still ashamed – embarrassed – of who he was and where he came from. In a different way than Jay. Because Jay was really fucking embarrassed about who and where he came from in terms of people – not geography. Will – it was the opposite. Again.

He'd really thought (or maybe he'd just tried to convince himself) that his brother was getting better about that kind of bullshit. It grated on him less. That he was actually able to enjoy spending time with Will. On occasion. Sharing a drink. A walk. Having a talk. Maybe occasionally almost get something that vaguely resembled a word of advice from an adult man. His supposedly "older" brother. But lately his hope that they were both maturing – that his brother was finally growing up – was deflating lately.

Jay knew that part of it was his own issues. That he had his own baggage that he just wasn't over as much as he was fucking over it.

It was just that spending time around Erin and then Eth and seeing that dynamic between him and Justin. It'd just opened some wounds. Pissed him off in whole new ways about older brothers and younger brothers. And the kind of legacy any of that shit can leave – whether you liked it or not. Whether you told yourself you'd risen above that. That you were an adult now – a men. And it really didn't fucking matter that you older brother was an asshole and a bit of a bully growing. That he hadn't been there for you or that he'd failed you. That he'd run away and disappointed you – and your family … your mom.

Thing was – no matter how much you told yourself you were over that stuff, Jay knew you never really got over it. You just grew up and moved on as best as you could. But there were still scars. Still sore points from it all.

And being around Eth – and Justin – it just took him back. In ways he didn't want to be taken back. It'd affected his attitude towards Will some. Maybe it made him more impatient. Maybe it made him curter. Maybe it made him a little less forgiving.

But the reality was that him and Will – they still had the opportunity to make amends, to make apologies, to find forgiveness, to move on, to have a fucking adult relationship, to be there for each other. Now. Eth and Justin wouldn't have that. And he could already see the impact that was having on the kid. He already knew the kind of memories it would mean that the kid would carry with him for life. That he'd try to make his brother a better man and a better person in his mind and his heart – because he was his big brother. That he'd try to focus on the positive despite the bullshit. But at some point in his future that kid was going to be looking back and all he was going to see was the bad and the hurt – and that was just going to rip open the wounds again. It was going to eat at his psyche.

And Eth wasn't going to have a chance to make amends. Neither was Justin. They weren't going to get to have a relationship as adults. To redefine who and what they were to each other. To try to find that spot where they were more than just connected by blood. That they were actually people who were connected. Who wanted to be connected. They were family.

So Jay was trying to keep in it perspective. To not let his own baggage get in the way of his interactions with Will. To try to keep that relationship going. To keep building and improving it and restoring it. But it was hard lately – because there hadn't been much talk about all the shit that he'd been through the past couple months. All the fucking bullshit that him and Erin had gone through. The ways he was hurting. The pretty fucking real problems he had in his life that he was still trying to sort out how to deal with – for his family's sake. But they weren't talking about any of that. Will hardly even asked him how he was – how he was doing, how he was coping. His head was too far up his ass right now. And all Jay heard Will talk about was money.

Not talk. Whine. And whine. And whine.

He was getting close to just telling him to go and ask Dad for whatever cash it was that he needed. Because Jay sure as fuck didn't have any to give to him. And he really didn't think as a man in his mid-30s that Will should be needing this kind of money. That he should have the resources to figure it the fuck out. He should've been smarter about it from the start.

Jay was just so sick of hearing about it. He'd had a shitty enough summer. His problems that were a lot bigger than having a mortgage on a condo he couldn't afford. He didn't really need to listen to that lament again out of Will. But apparently he was going to have to.

"I prefer to eat real food," Jay told him and nudged – more like pushed – the box away from him.

Will gazed into it and carefully picked out a donut-hole, popping it into his mouth. "Cops are supposed to like donuts," he mumbled amidst his chewing.

"I don't do coffee before 10 a.m.," Jay muttered and leaned forward a bit to watch Evan's pitching and Eth's catching going on down on the field. Looked like it was likely going to be a short inning. Evan might be shooting for a perfect game by the looks of it. But he got the sense that kid went into every game like that.

"Right … Squirrel," Will muttered, shaking around the box again and gazing into it. He was clearly trying to pick out a specific flavor. Likely should've just gotten one kind since he was going to have them all to himself. Though, Erin would likely have some when she got there. If she thought she was able to grab a couple without Eth seeing and going on a pity party about not being allowed to eat that sort of crap.

"So Erin gets to skip out on this but I'm dragging my ass out here at this time of day on a Saturday?" Will put to him, apparently heard his thoughts about his fiancée.

Jay shrugged and kept watching the pitching. "You said you wanted to talk."

He could feel Will gazing at the side of his head. "Yea, well, haven't gotten together for a while. You haven't been coming into Molly's. Short on the phone."

Jay gave him a glance. "Things have been a little busy," he put bluntly and then turned back to the game. A kid had gotten on base. So much for a prefect game. "We're at this this morning," he muttered. "Then we're headed over to an open house."

Will nodded as he slurped at his coffee. "What happened to moving into her place?"

Jay let out a long breath and looked at him. "I'm moving into her place. But we're still looking for a place. One-bedroom doesn't make sense for the situation."

Will gave another little nod and gazed across the field. Jay could tell he'd spotted Voight standing over on the far side. Not in the home team bleachers and not even sitting with the visiting team. He was off on his own – away from everyone and everything.

Will jutted his chin in that direction. "He avoiding us or we avoiding him?"

"Bit of both," Jay provided.

Another nod and another slurp out of Will. "How's that going?" he asked flatly.

"It's going," Jay said.

"How's Erin holding up?" Will asked.

Jay just shook his head and slumped more into his knees. He didn't know how to answer that question. She was clinging by a thread. That was the truth. And he knew that he was the thread she was clinging to. He wasn't going to let her down but the heavy-lifting this time was definitely heaving. Some days – some nights – he could feel her slipping more than others.

But they only talked about any of it so much. There was only so much Erin wanted to talk about. There was only so much that could be said about any of it. They could talk about it ad nauseum but he knew that at the end of the conversation they likely wouldn't have said much. So instead they talked about everything and nothing. And it mostly just felt like they were spinning while trying not to spin. That they were trying to distract themselves by talking about normal things. Making normal plans. By taking it one step at a time. By drinking beer and eating pizza. By listening to music and watching PBS. By having sex – making love – and making declarations of love more purposefully than before. But somehow felt a bit more empty than before even though he knew – hoped, felt – that it had more to do with the overall emptiness inside and exhaustion they felt with everything than an emptiness in their hearts or their love for each other.

It was just hard. It was a fucking minefield. But they were trying to trust each other. And he was trying to still be that person she could trust. But Erin really only trust anyone so much. Himself included. Even if he was the only one on the list of people she trusted at the moment. So that only counted for so much.

But apparently his non-answer said enough to his brother. Maybe he knew him well enough – or better – than he gave him credit for. And Will's eyes tracked back to Ethan behind the plate.

"How's the kid coping?" he asked instead.

"He's not," Jay put flatly.

Eth was putting on a good show. Probably as good as show as Erin. As good as show as Voight. But that's the sort of thing the kid had been brainwashed into thinking was normal. The whole stiff upper lip thing.

But Jay had been there too. He'd spent most of his lifetime trying to pull of that trick. He still did. He did his best to disassociate and to not feel and to cope and to separate and compartmentalize. And it only worked as well as it worked – expect for when it didn't work. And sometimes it didn't fucking work at all.

And these days he felt like he was teetering towards days where it didn't fucking work at all. And he was trying to reassess and re-compartmentalize and relearn coping strategies. Because right now it wasn't just him he needed to protect. It wasn't just him who needed to be pulled out of a hole. He had other important people in his life who needed help with that hole. Who needed his protection. Who needed him present and clear. He couldn't spin out like the other people around them were. He needed to know the difference between he black and the white – not any fucking grey areas. Erin – and Ethan – didn't need grey areas right now. They needed stability.

Someone needed to be that for them.

"Had expected we'd be seeing him in at Med these past few weeks with a flare up with all that's going on," Will commented.

Jay frowned and gave him a look. His brother's eyes almost spoke sympathy. But Will was never very good at the compassion thing. It wasn't that Will wasn't compassionate. It was just that he saved any of his sympathy or compassion for people he didn't know. It wasn't for his family. It wasn't for him. But Jay supposed he was OK with that. He didn't really want sympathy. Maybe he wanted some understanding. Maybe some support.

But he'd learned long ago not to trust his brother with that. They were just starting to get to the point that maybe he trusted him and looked to him a bit more for understanding and support than he had in a long time. But other times it was hard. Like during all this. He wasn't getting sympathy, understanding or support from his brother. He didn't feel like it anyway. There wasn't empathy. Maybe Halsteads just sucked at empathy. Maybe it was the way they were raised. Or how they had to shut themselves down to survive their childhoods in their own respective ways.

But what Jay did know was that Will's eyes always had this judgment in them. But Jay knew his did to. Sometimes you had to harden your eyes. Thing was it usually meant you hardened some of your soul in the process. But that's something he'd had to do too. To survive.

He knew Eth was likely doing that now too. The stone eyes. Not quite dead but no longer quite human. A statue in disguise. You don't want to have eyes like that at thirteen. You shouldn't have eyes like that until later. But the kid did. And he did. And Erin did too. And her eyes were working at turning more and more to stone lately. And Jay was working at chipping at it. Break in some cracks in that concrete she was trying to put up – the veneer – so some light could still get through. Because he knew the woman he loved still had light inside her. It was why he fucking loved her. He just had to keep doing his best to remind her that the light was there.

But he didn't say any of that to Will. Not today. Because this wasn't a morning where Will wanted to hear his brother the philosopher. And if he did, he wanted to hear it spouted at him to solve his 'problems' – not in Jay's personal effort to sort out his own. To try to make the days and weeks – and even just the hours and minutes – seem a bit easier.

Because maybe Mouse was right. Maybe here it was always just too loud and too complicated. It was all these grey areas that he had been able to live in over there – but living in it here … now … that was different. Because he'd needed to move out of the grey to come back to life. To make himself a life again. To have a job and friends and a girlfriend and a fiancée. TO make a new – a different – family for himself. And lately it felt like all of that was being stripped away from him in varying capacities. That they were dressing it up nicely to seem like they were moving on – that they could move on. That he was spouting philosophy to Erin about the things they could change and the things they couldn't. The things they could do and didn't have to fall victim to. That some things come and go in life – but that her – she wasn't going to be one of them. But as much as he said it – as much as he was trying to internalize it, to live that way – because he knew it was the only way he'd survive this, that Erin would survive thing. Maybe that any of them would survive this. But at the same time the reality was that here he still felt like it was under fire. That he was still in that cloud of dust. Where right and wrong was a quagmire. Where actions and inaction were both as confusing. Where it was all just grey when he needed black and white. When his family needed fucking black and white. And they needed the quiet that Mouse said he wanted too – but the quiet that Jay knew wasn't back in the Rangers. But he also knew it wasn't here. Not right now. Not in Intelligence. Not around Voight. Maybe not in Chicago.

So he had to find that quiet someway else. Somewhere else. And he wanted it to be in Erin. He wanted it to be in their relationship. In the little fractured family and home they could make together. A safe place.

Family was supposed to be – it should be – a safe place. But he'd also learned as just a kid that that was a lie. Just like all the others.

So he just turned away. Turned again to watch the game. To focus on that. To pretend like it was meaning. That it was important.

Because it was. For Eth. Maybe for all of them. But at least for Eth it meant escape. It meant a safe nine-innings away from the bullshit. The feel and the sound of the ball smacking against the glove. The power of his arm tossing it back. The crack of the bat. The pride of the team – even if Jay thought he didn't have much pride about the name on his back anymore. But, he did think, if they were going to talk about flares and what was and wasn't keeping Eth out of the hospital in these past few weeks – it was this. Something that resembled stability. These one-legged, one-armed, scarred and crippled kids who'd endured shit from disease, genetics, violence, accidents or just fucking happenstance – but who were living more fulfilling and stable lives than likely most of the adults in the stands cheering them on.

Maybe they weren't cheering them on about the ball game.

"You actually moving your stuff out of your shit hole?" Will put to him when he hadn't given a response.

Jay shrugged. "Yea," he allowed. "Working on it."

And he was. He'd been working on it for months. He pretty much lived at Erin's anyways. He had stuff there. Now it was just the furniture. The sentimental crap that he kept to the minimum because there was only so much he really wanted to get sentimental about. There's only so much that soldiers ever really got sentimental about. There's only so much you can carry.

And Jay felt like the things he carried were way too much. And it just became more – it became heavier – with each year. With the more people he let in.

Maybe it was easier when you didn't let people in. When you didn't give them a piece of you. When they didn't give you a piece of yourself.

And maybe that was what Mouse was struggling with too. It wasn't just his load anymore. It was his sister's and his nephew's and Erica's. And maybe it was his and Ethan's and even Voight's and Intelligence's and the whole of CPD's too. And that weighed heavy. It dug into your shoulders when you were already carrying all the memories from the Rangers and the loads of all those you left behind. And the burden of the ones that they'd left behind while you got to keep on living.

And it was hard. But the load here – it was important too. Erin. Ethan. The job. It counted. It mattered. Even Will's stupid complaints about his problems mattered – because he was his brother, so that was his load too. His fucking problem too.

"Yea? When you officially moving out?" Will asked.

Jay just shrugged again. "Guess it depends on if we like this place we're going to look at after this."

Will gave a little nod and eyed him as he sipped at his coffee. "How much you paying a month in that shit hole?" he asked.

Jay gave him a patronizing look. "You aren't taking over my lease," he read between the lines.

Will sighed. "Has to be cheaper than my mortgage. Condo fees."

"No shit, Sherlock," Jay grumbled and turned his attention back to the game. Things had switched up. Be waiting for Eth to get up to bat. Kid usually managed to get on base for his team. Had a couple homers that season.

"So maybe if you don't want to give up the lease, I could sublet from you for a bit," Will tried. "Rent out my place."

Jay cast him another look. "I don't think so," he put bluntly.

"It's not that crazy of an idea," Will muttered.

"You hate my apartment," Jay spat. "You're always giving me shit about it. Why would you want to live there?"

Will shrugged and swigged at his coffee. "Because I can afford it."

Jay just rolled his eyes and went back to watching the field. He could see Erin walking across the park. Looked like she was going to pass on Voight's side. Wasn't sure if that was purposeful or if she just hadn't noticed him yet. That snub would be interesting to watch if she deke around him. Didn't think Voight would say anything about it – or to her. But had seen her make the maneuver enough at work that he did know that the guy's face and eyes said it all. It was hurting him.

That was a tough line to watch. He was firmly on Erin's side. He knew she had good reason for needing space. Knew she had good reason to be upset with the guy. The whole fucking unit was upset with the guy. But Erin was still trying to strip him out of her life. Photographs had been removed from the condo. Eye contact was being avoided. She'd hardly been over to the house. She didn't answer phone calls on her personal phone when it was from any of his numbers.

And as much as Jay completely understood – that on a lot of it he completely agreed with her stance – he also knew that cutting Voight out had implications on Eth and that hurt. It wasn't just that, though. He knew Voight – when you stripped away what did or didn't happen that night when he'd sent them one direction and gone another – was hurting too. That he'd lost a son. His grandson had been pulled away from him too. And now his daughter was pushing him out of her life as well. And for all the things that Jay really fucking hated about Voight – how he didn't agree with his morals or his way or his grey areas – he did know that the guy tried as a father. And he gave him some credit for that. Still, he'd royally fucked up and he was paying the price now. Seemed like a pretty steep price, though. But he'd done a pretty spectacular nosedive at quite the fucking velocity. The impact was going to more than sting.

Still, Jay was still trying to figure out how to deal with that dynamic. To sort it all out and his place in it all. What it meant for his job? What it meant for him and Erin? What it meant for their future? And their family?

It was fucking confusing and really fucking complicated. But Erin had always been complicated. Being with her wasn't easy.

But he knew that with all that was going on it was likely going to be him and Voight who hit a boiling point first. That they might be simmering now – giving each other space, giving some respect to boundaries. But Jay knew … just felt it … that when the blows did come … when they did boil over … all of this … it was going to be him and Voight who took all their anger about the whole fucking mess he'd made and what it meant for Erin and Ethan and even Henry and Intelligence and everyone there. And it'd be them taking it out on each other.

The question was when it was going to happen. And then the other question was what it'd look like. How far either of them was willing to go in driving their point home. And then ultimately what the aftermath of that confrontation would mean for them. For either of them. For all of them.

He didn't really want to think about it. He didn't need a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not on this.

"Been trying to find a roommate," Will offered. "But you wouldn't believe the weirdoes using roommate apps. I just want to find … someone like me."

"Then the weirdo roommate app should work out just fine," Jay muttered.

He could feel Will staring at him and he fidgeted with his coffee cup for a moment and then started digging through the donuts again. "There's this pathologist at work. She's a little strange," he muttered as he picked around the food. "But, I don't know, she seems like roommate material. Been thinking of asking her what her living arrangement is like."

Jay cast his eyes to him. "Don't," he put flatly.

Will squinted at him. "What?"

"You break up with Natalie—" Jay started.

"We weren't dating," Will interrupted.

Jay glared at him more firmly. "Natalie shows some interest in someone other than you—"

"She's sleeping with her husband's best friend," Will interjected again and licked sugar coating off his fingers.

"You don't know that," Jay pressed at him.

Will raised his eyebrow at him. "Really?" He shook his head like that was about the stupidest thing he'd heard in his life. Like Jay was some ignorant child. "You see them at work. Tells you all you need to know."

"Whatever …," Jay mumbled. Because he wasn't going to argue about it. It was always the same. Will fell in love with some completely unattainable woman and than dramatized their "separation" to suddenly make him the victim in his fucked up imagined romances.

"Seriously," Will pressed at him. "If something happened to you, how'd you feel about Mouse moving in on Erin?"

Jay glared at him. "OK, one, that would never happen. Erin is way out of Mouse's league. Two, he has a girlfriend. And three, I'd be dead so I wouldn't be feeling shit about any of it."

Will just shook his head at him that time and shoved a donut into his mouth whole. A tactic Eth also used to end conversations. Yet somehow so much more annoying out of a man in his 30s. Shocking.

"My point is do not bring his new woman—"

"Nina," Will somehow managed to get out between the dough.

"—into your mess. Leave her alone. Don't make her your crutch or your rebound."

"It's not like that," Will spittle as he swallowed.

But it was. It always was. It was part of Will's M.O. – and one that he still hadn't outgrown.

Jay turned his head, though. He'd apparently missed Erin's chat with Voight or her detour around him. Because she was now clomping up the steps of the bleachers.

"Hey, Will," she greeted. He managed a little nod, as she sat herself next to Jay and handed him a coffee off the tray and then dug around in the brown paper bag to retrieve a breakfast bagel for him.

"Fancy," Will mocked at Jay and then held out the box of donuts at her. "Brought donuts."

Erin shook her head and worked at peeling back the paper on her bagel. "Maybe after."

Will nodded and managed to shut up for a bit. Letting them stare at the game and watch the plays.

"Almost the end of the season?" he asked after a bit.

"Last game," Erin provided. "They made it into the Classics Tournament, though. Next weekend."

"Mmm …," Will allowed. "End of summer tournament. Always a classic."

Erin gave him a thin smile for his effort. Jay knew that Will wasn't her favorite person in the world either. That was likely partially his fault. But Erin just generally wasn't a huge fan of people – and it wasn't exactly like Will was a people person. Jay had yet to meet many doctors who actually were when you got down to it. Maybe most of the human race just wasn't people people.

"What's after baseball?" Will asked, popping more donuts into his mouth like he was trying to keep up with them eating their breakfast now.

Erin shrugged and looked at the field over the top of her bagel. "Don't know he feels up to anything right now. The Rehab Center offers sledge hockey and basketball too. And rowing," she said and gestured at the field. "Evan, the pitcher, is going to do that. But I don't think that's really Ethan." She considered the diamond again and allowed, "Robotics will start up in January anyways. Give him a bit of a break to sort himself out before his schedule is overloaded again."

Jay looked at her. "He's not going to do Robotics if Mouse leaves."

Her eyes met his. "We aren't letting Mouse leave," she put to him firmly.

Will glanced between them. "Wait? What? Greg's taking off?"

Erin looked at Jay apologetically and he let out a long sigh and shifted his eyes to his brother. "He's talking about re-enlisting."

"Wait? What?" Will pressed out again. "How? Wasn't he medically discharged?"

Jay shrugged and looked at his own bagel. "He was approached about it by a general and he seems to think he's got the right people lined up to fudge up his paperwork the way he needs to get things to go through."

Will gaped at him. "But … why would he do that? I thought …" he just trailed off and looked at Jay with suddenly sympathetic eyes.

Erin gazed at the down of them. "We're going to talk him out of it," she put firmly – more to Jay than Will.

Will sighed and shook his head gazed at the field, muttering, "Wow …"

And for a second he thought Will was going to shut up. That he was going to absorb this a bit more – for a few minutes – but then he looked right at Erin.

"Hey … heard you're looking for a two bedroom. You know if you wanted to switch up places and mortgage payments for a—"

"NO," Jay and Erin both blurted at the same time.

And that was about the only answer Will was going to get. It seemed like about the only answer they could manage for the world right now. Just NO. No, no, no. Just fucking no.

But lately it really didn't seem like the world was listening.

But when did it ever anyway. Why should now be any different?

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The two chapters before this — CLASH and LIFELINE — were updated on the same day so they didn't bump. The numbers on LIFELINE are really low so I think many people missed it. You might want to double check.**

 **As always, feedback and reviews are appreciated.**

 **And again, there will likely be very sparse updates throughout October.**


	11. Just Friends

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank gave a momentary glance over his shoulder at the creeping down the steeps. He'd heard his son's door open and hadn't heard anymore movement so knew the kid was likely standing up there trying to gauge if it was safe to come down.

Supposed it was. Though, he'd ripped into his son good that evening when he'd gotten home from work. Real good. Had a blow out unlike anything they'd had since his boy had gotten home. Knew both of them had said some things they didn't exactly mean in the heat of it all. Though, maybe they both did.

He'd told his boy he didn't want to look at him and to get his ass upstairs. There was a whole lot of truth to that. Been a whole lot of moments lately where he didn't much feeling like looking at his son for a whole host of reasons. It was just too hard. Yet at the same time Magoo was all he had left.

Ethan had told him he hated him. Sure there was some truth in that too. Especially in that moment. Especially in him feeling the need to pile on that Justin and Erin hated him too.

And Hank supposed he could accept that. Knew Justin had gone through periods where he hated him. Knew Erin wasn't his biggest fan right now. But had sort of hoped that hating him was putting it a little strongly. Both for her and for E.

E was just a kid, though. A teenaged kid. They were supposed to tell their parents they hated them. Just seemed to be the way it worked.

Had heard it out of all his kids' mouths before. Hell, had even heard it out of Ethan's mouth before. But it stung a little more that night. Too much.

His blood had boiled. He'd lost his temper. Raised his voice. Gone at his boy. Got in his space. Ordered him upstairs. Out of his fucking sight. Grabbing his phone to keep him from texting his friends or calling his sister or plugging in to his fucking music or getting on the internet or whatever fucking social media he thought he should broadcast his life to the world on. Grabbing his dog's collar too before Bear took off after him. Let him fucking stare at the ceiling. Seemed to be his favorite activity lately anyway. Maybe this time he could get his head on fucking straight while he was at it.

Had just been so mad at his son. Got home to find him and Eva scrambling away from each other on the couch in the front room as he got in the door. Didn't know exactly what they'd been up to but had raised enough teens that he didn't have to speculate too much. And he didn't want or need more fucking drama in his family's life right now. And beyond all that, E knew the rules – he didn't have girls in the house alone. Hell, he didn't much like him having friends over when someone wasn't there, period. Not at this age. They're too fucking stupid.

So it'd been time for Eva to go. Girl was hardly out the door before Magoo was at him about how embarrassing he was and how much he was overreacting and how they weren't doing anything. It'd only escalated. Turned into him spouting some bullshit from his brother about him being a "monk" and how he was thirteen and when he felt him and his mother started dating and "doing stuff!".

It just wasn't the time or place for the conversation. He wasn't in the state of mind. And those fucking words … "monk", "mom" … Cami … "Justin" … stringing together just hit him the wrong way. A criticism of him and his life and the family he'd tried to make and the father he'd tried to be and the husband he was just wasn't something he was willing to hear. Not out of the fucking mouth of a defiant mouthy kid who didn't known shit about shit.

A switch got flipped. Their voices both kept raising until the "I hate you" came out of E, closely followed by his own, "Get the fuck out of my sight. I can't even stand looking at you."

He'd known he'd regret before he'd even finished saying it. One of those things that just punches you in the gut. But he'd said it. And the reality was that he did need some time to cool down – and so did Magoo. And they both needed to get their heads on straight to be able to look at each other again. To have a real conversation.

He'd calmed down, though. Because that was just what you did. Kids had a way of kicking you in the teeth better than any other. Been kicked before. Punched. Shot. Sometimes when he was down already. But your kids just had it down to a fine art. Seems like you had too many soft spots when you came to your kids. And they knew all about that soft underbelly too and were happy to jab one in right where it hurt.

Being too mad at your kids, though, it was always just counterproductive. And there was only so much to be mad about. Some hurt feelings? That wasn't worth dragging shit out about. Not worth fracturing his and Magoo's already fragile relationship for.

So was focusing on the real issue. That his boy had broken some rules. That that'd compromised their level of trust. And that was something he could work within as a father. As a parent. And with a level head.

So that was where they were at.

He'd called E at dinner. Kid hadn't come down. Knew he was still being defiant – ignoring him. But he'd still gone up, opened that door, and told him directly that dinner was ready. E hadn't looked at him. And he hadn't come down.

So Hank had eaten his supper alone at the table. Been the first time in a long time he'd done that. And he'd eaten about as much as he had in all those times he'd sat down to a meal alone. Not much. No much of an appetite.

Food got put away. Kitchen got cleaned up. And he'd taken Magoo's evening meds, his injection kit and an apple back upstairs. Put the apple on Eth's nightstand but would hedge bets on it still being there now – untouched. Kid had refused to look at him again. Hadn't spoken to him until Hank indicated he wasn't leaving until he watched the kid swallow the pills down. Could tell the kid was still in a mood and wasn't about to let him to some self-punishment and greater damage to them all by skipping a dose.

E had made a bit of a production out of swallowing the pills. Tried to take them without sitting up and ended up pouring water all over himself and choking. Hank had refrained from comment. Just got the injection ready. It'd only been then that E decided to talk, mumbling at him he could do it himself. But even though he knew – and wanted them getting to the point that Eth was comfortable with doing it himself and able to – he didn't trust that it was a good night to test progress on that. Wasn't leaving the room until that needle was in. So he just did it himself, E again refusing to look at him while he wiped down his skin with rubbing alcohol and pressed the needle into his tender skin. Pulled his shirt back into place for him. Not even a glance as he repacked the kit and left, closing the door behind him.

That was fine. Typical of a teenager.

So he'd just let him keep cool down.

Sat down in the front room with fucking Bear gazing at him with sad eyes that he wasn't allowed upstairs with the kid. That he wasn't getting his evening walk or game of fetch either. Just got tossed out in the yard for a run and a shit.

Truth was he felt a little trapped. That he would've liked to be burying himself in some work. Or out at the social club, burying himself in some hands of cards and some whiskey.

Instead he was in a too quiet house with a kid that hated him at least that evening. Trying to find something to watch on the shitty boob tube because he didn't feel much like reading and he hadn't brought any work home with him. And for once his phone wasn't pinging with messages. Seemed to be doing less of that since he got back to work. Didn't want to speculate on the reasons for that but he had his suspicions too.

Funny that E getting home had become this reason for him to like coming home again. To have something to go home to. For the place to feel more alive again. But lately it just felt as haunted as before. Maybe more than before. This fucking ghost town that he was committed to taking up residence in himself too.

He spotted his son coming down the stairs and looked back to the TV. Knew it'd be a slow progress him getting down. Didn't look like he was using his crutches and he'd likely be stopping and again checking to see if he got a reaction before venturing down more. So let him take his time.

Was having to do a lot of that lately. Let Ethan do things on his own time.

And that was fucking hard too. It wasn't the way he was used to operating as a parent. But he didn't much feel like the parent he'd been anymore. Didn't much feel like the man he'd been either.

Wasn't exactly sure who he was or what he was anymore. Or if he could live with himself. But he was.

E was standing in the front room now. Staring at the TV screen and giving him cautious, questioning glances.

Hank finally cast him a look. "Was trying to watch the Netflix," he put to his son. "Kept bringing up some message about not being connected to the Internet and starting up this disc instead."

E blinked at him and then looked back to the screen. "It likely needs an update," he provided. "Want me to show you how to fix it?"

Hank just grunted a negative and kept at his attempt to navigate the car on screen around the racing track. Wasn't doing too bad but sure wasn't doing great. Crashed and lost the fucking race more times than he wanted to admit. Sure didn't feel much like driving a car. Didn't have the same thrill. But he could sort of see the appeal of the game. Nice cars. Decent tunes. And real fucking mindless when you didn't want to be thinking about a hell of a lot. Which was pretty much where he was at that night.

E gazed at his battered attempts of revving the engine and squealing the wheels and trying to follow the damn arrow showing the way while keeping up with all these damn fucking computer-generated cars that made it look like dodging around you with a fucking videogame controller was the easiest thing in the world. Not that the fucking computers were having to figure out this controller thing. Some line of code was telling them way to do. They were getting off easy. Fucking cheating.

His son's eyes shifted to him again and stared but Hank just kept up with attempt at the game. To win the fucking race for once.

"I didn't mean it, Dad," E finally said quietly. Hank gave him a glance but no response. "What I said," Eth felt the need to add.

Hank gave him a little grunt and shrug. "I know," he allowed and looked back to the game.

"Well, I didn't mean it about Justin or Erin either," E said.

Hank let out a quiet amused sound and didn't respond to that one either. Because E might not have been speaking for his brother and sister then – so he certainly wasn't going to speak for them now either. Besides, they were likely all lying to themselves on some level if none of them acknowledged that his kids had all had moments of hating him.

Had to trust that him and Justin had repaired their relationship enough over the past few years that wasn't the way his oldest son had felt when he lost him. And had to trust that however Erin felt about him right now, he still had time to repair that relationship too. That the relationship wasn't going to end with her hating him – for what he was and who he was and what she thought he was capable of.

So he'd just take the first comment at face value – that E didn't hate him. Which he knew - or hoped – already. It was the relationship he was most likely to salvage in all of this. The one he still had a chance with. Even though he felt more and more like he was fucking it up because he couldn't figure out how to reconcile the father he was with the father he was now. Or the father he thought he needed to be.

But maybe that was just another fucking person he didn't know. And didn't know how to be. And maybe that was just fucking lying to himself and his son and everyone else too.

Pussyfooting around like some fucking pussy. Scared of his own shadow. Only that shadow was Magoo because the shadow of a boy that was left in his youngest – it was something he didn't want to loose. Couldn't. But he also couldn't be a fucking pushover in all of this either. Couldn't let his son's anger walk all over him because he was afraid to say something that would push or pull them apart more. That he'd lose all he had left.

So Hank just gestured for his son to sit down over in the armchair. That fucking chair that his boys were always claiming. The spot where J had last sit and that he'd spent too many nights sitting in that spot on the couch and looking at it already. Just looking. Still seeing his oldest boy sitting there with his tumbler of whisky. Wrapping up their celebration of his grandson. Smiling. Proud of himself. Happy about his family. Talking about the apartment him and Olive were getting all set up. The furniture they'd spent the day putting together before coming over. Saying how much he was looking forward to getting released from base so he could get up there and be with his family and get started with his education. Prattling on about some of the classes he'd got to pick as electives. Some of the ones that he was having to take as mandatories but how he thought he'd be ahead of the curve with some of the training he'd already gotten with the army. Already talking about how he was on track for officer. Looking more grown-up and like a man than he had in a good while. Like he was really settling into all this – wife, son, career. That he was on track. Young and healthy and real bright future.

Just a shadow of him over in that chair now too. A ghost. Still smiling at him. That cocky ego but Hank had still felt proud of him that night. That weekend. Proud of the topics of conversation they were hitting on. The things he was talking about. The responsibilities he seemed to be taking up. The growing up he was going. Been real proud of him in those moments.

Real proud. And that'd meant a lot. To both of them. He knew that. They'd needed that.

But now it was Magoo sitting in that fucking armchair. Slouched down in it just like his brother would. Wasn't smiling, though.

Hank gave him another glance. "You hungry?" he put to him.

E gave his head a little shake. "My stomach kinda hurts."

"Mmm," Hank grunted. "Tends to happen when you take your meds without food, don't it?"

Eth let out a little sigh and slouched farther into the cushions, gazing at the screen again.

"There's a new version of this game coming out soon," he commented.

"What's new about it?" Hank asked. Didn't think there was too much you could do to make a car racing game that "new". Seemed like the premise would stay pretty much the same. Couldn't really make that many changes.

E shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it has better graphics and probably new cars."

"Mmm …," Hank acknowledged.

"It's set in Australia. It's like off-roading in the Outback and stuff."

Hank gave him another little glance but this time tossed the controller down and positioned himself so he was looking more directly at his boy. Giving him his attention. Looking at him. Giving him the visual cue that he was ready to do that. That he could stand doing that. That he hadn't fucking meant what he'd said either.

"You're going to crash," E muttered, still staring at the screen.

Hank made a dismissive sound and Ethan turned to set his eyes on him too. Apparently he wasn't quite ready to look at him, though – not with his full attention, because his eyes had shifted to examine the floor.

"So that why you think you want to spend all your money on the new game system?" Hank put to him. "This new car game?"

E shrugged. "I don't know. Not really."

Hank made a listening noise and kept staring at him, giving him a little smack. E's eyes gazed upward from their downward cast.

"It's mostly just something to do," he said. "Everyone has one."

"You've got one," Hank said. "Seems to be working just fine."

E let out a slow breath. "Dad, it's real old. No one even puts out games for it anymore. Not any of the new ones. So I can't play with any of my friends."

"Thought you couldn't play with Evan anyway," Hank said.

"Well, if I got a PlayStation, I could play with him," Ethan said. "If I got an Xbox then I could play with Eva."

Hank grunted. "Don't know that helps your case in convincing me to let you drop all your cash on a Stupid Box."

E's eyes drifted back to the floor again. "We were just playing this game, Dad," he said with complete unsure.

"Sure looked like you two were finishing up more than that with what I caught the tale end of when I got in the door," Hank rasped at him.

E pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes while he continued to stare at the floor. "It wasn't like that," he said. "We weren't doing anything."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted and stared at him more. His son just staring at the floor with hands covering most of his face. "You know that I don't like you having friends over unless you tell me you're having people in the house and are checking in."

"You would've said no if I asked if Eva could come over," he mumbled.

"You're right," Hank said. "Because you know what the next rule is about having girls in this house when you're here alone."

E's embarrassed eyes came up to his. "Dad, it wasn't like that. Really. Me and Eva aren't like that. I don't know what we're like but we aren't like boyfriend-girlfriend. We're just friends."

Hank made another noise and kept his examination planted on him. Kept on measuring if what was coming out of his son's mouth was truth or lies. Or half-truths and half-lies.

E let out a little sound and let his eyes fall back down again. "I don't like being here alone," he said quietly and gave him another upward glance. This time his eyes looked glassy. "It doesn't feel right here anymore," he sputtered and looked away.

Hank's eyes stayed on him. Gazing at the top of his head for a long beat. It was shaking just slightly and he knew his son was likely again fighting against tears.

"Come here," he finally said and his son gave him another cautious glance. But Hank just put his hand on the cushion of the couch next to him.

E gazed at where his hand was sitting for a long, long beat. Like walking across the width of the front room was a threshold that he couldn't bring himself to cross. Like the last thing in the world he wanted to do was sit on the couch next to him. But he did finally haul himself awkwardly out of the plush chair and round the table to sit next to him. His elbows on his knees and his face still buried somewhere in the palm of his hands.

"Eva gets it," E finally mumbled somewhere deep into his palms. "Her older brother got shot and died too. By a gang. So it's like she gets it. Like all of it. Me and this and all of it," he sputtered and gave Hank a pleading look. "And I don't get what's so bad about it because you and Mom were friends when you were kids too and you said you started going out in high school so that's only like a year older than me. And Justin and Olive knew each other in high school and I know Erin dated in high school too. You say all the time that she left a string of broken hearts. So I don't know why I can't be friends with Eva."

He kept his son's eyes. "No one's saying you can't be friends with Eva. I'm saying this family's got rules about friends coming over when there ain't no supervision here. And we've got rules about members of the opposite sex being over. And, Ethan, you aren't in high school. You're still just thirteen and that's too young to be dating. Too young to be responsible enough to handle any of the stuff that goes along with dating."

E looked away from him and sputtered again. "We weren't doing anything. We're just friends."

"Look on your faces when I came in the door and the way you were bolting for opposite ends of the couch tells me a different story," Hank gravelled.

E let out a flared breath and shifted his glassy eyes back to him. "I was upset. I told her about Olive and Henry leaving and you and Erin fighting and how I don't want to go to the Classics this weekend. Or to back to school. Or the stupid mass and prayer service that Father Caruso wants to do. And how I wish it was me dead – not Justin but just like Justin always said it was supposed to be me to die. How it should've been me. Because that would just make things easier and better for everyone."

Hank's eyes stung at that. His own glass forming there and he pulled his son to him.

"No one feels that way," he said, holding his son, who he could feel shaking against him.

"I feel that way," he sobbed. "Justin felt that way and he was right."

"That's not the way he felt," Hank pressed, holding his son tight.

"It is," Ethan cried. "He said it all the time."

"He didn't," Hank argued, pulling his son away from him and looking into his watery eyes. The snot dripping out of his nose and collecting on his upper lip. "He might've said it a couple times but it's not how he felt. He said it when he was hurting and angry and missing your guy's Mom. It wasn't about you, Magoo. He was just a kid and he was just lashing out. Saying stupid, dumbass shit. We all say stupid, dumbass shit when we're hurting. Tend to say it to the people we care about the most."

E just buried himself back against him. "But it would be easier," he mumbled into his shoulder. "It wouldn't hurt like this."

"It'd hurt me," Hank wrapped his arms around him. "It'd hurt your sister."

Ethan just gave his head a little shake against him and Hank moved his hand to cup at the back of his boy's head, stroking his patchy hair.

"E, you can't be talking about this that way," he said and held him even tighter. "It scares me. OK? It makes me think we've got to get you into Dr. Pelican or Dr. Charles first thing in the a.m."

"No," Ethan whined against him.

"Ethan, if you're feeling things like that. Vocalizing them to me. To Eva," he said, "then we need to find someone more for you to talk to. We need to get you some extra help."

"But me and Eva weren't doing anything," he cried against him. "I was just upset and she just gave me a hug and we just moved because you came home and I knew you'd be upset and she was supposed to go before you got home but she didn't want to leave because I was upset. She just gave me a hug. We were just playing video games and talking. We're just friends. She's the only one who gets it. We're just friends."

"I know, Ethan," Hank assured, gripping at him – clinging to him. "I believe you. I'm glad she was there for you."

Because clearly as much as he was trying to be there – to be present – to be the father Ethan needed in that moment, as much as he was trying to be available and approachable and in tune with what his needed during all of this, to what he was feeling and how he was doing … he was clearly failing again.

Because he didn't know what the fuck he was doing. At all.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I've got lots of ideas on what I want to do for the next several chapters of this. But updates will likely remain very sporadic for the next while.**


	12. Elephants

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Dr. Charles looked up from working through his stack of pancakes. Not exactly a healthy start to the day but he didn't do so well in the healthy eating department even on his better days. At least this wasn't pork rinds. Or potato chips. Or a candy bar out of the vending machine. And, besides, how could he pass up on having pancakes when having breakfast at a restaurant called Stax. That'd just be some sort of sacrilege. Not that the kid sitting across from him, or his father, had cared.

Hank Voight had just ordered a standard bacon and eggs platter. The kid, after putting up a bit of a fuss about wanting "just regular cereal", had settled on an "oatmeal" waffle piled high with apples and cinnamon and "granola" that looked more like a bunch of nuts and seeds than any sort of granola Dr. Charles had ever witnessed before. Not to mention, it looked entirely too healthy for breakfast at a pancake house. Or breakfast for a thirteen-year-old, period. Not that Ethan Voight really seemed to be eating it. He'd done some picking at the apples on top but now had just been sitting and staring at him trying to shovel the chocolate chip pancakes into his mouth.

The kid made a bit of an amused noise at his enthusiastic enjoyment of the breakfast. So Dr. Charles cocked his eyebrow, only to get shrugged at. It seemed to be one of the kid's favorite forms of communication – at least that morning. But it was a pretty standard form of teen-aged expression in his experience.

Beyond that, Dr. Charles was sure that the kid was less than thrilled that he'd crashed on his breakfast with his father. And even beyond that, he knew Ethan Voight wasn't a stupid kid. He hadn't had a lot of interactions with him – really hadn't had much beyond a few passing pleasantries – but he knew enough about the boy's situation and had had enough discussions with his father and sister to know that all the lights were on upstairs in that kid. And they were shining rather brightly, despite the brain damage he'd experienced. So he didn't have a doubt in his mind that at this point the kid had more than figured out why they'd been left alone sitting there.

But he'd been doing a good job at doing his best to ignore him so far. So Dr. Charles had let him. Besides, he'd had pancakes to eat. He wanted to eat them before they got cold. Though, apparently, his eating was amusing enough to elicit a commentary out of the boy.

Charles gazed at the kid, only to realize he'd managed to drip syrup all over his tie. That was pretty par for the course. Seemed like he needed a bib whenever he ate. Ties just got in the way of everything.

He worked at swiping up the syrup with his finger and sucking it off, as the kid grinned sheepishly at him.

"My sister likes it here too," he said bashfully.

"The pancakes?" Charles put back to him.

Ethan gave another little shrug. "Yea. But I think she likes everything. The pancakes and the crepes and the French toast and the waffles."

"And you don't?" Charles asked, trying to find an inroads since the kid had decided to speak.

He'd heard from others at Med that the kid could be a bit of a talker. He recalled Erin once expressing to him that her little brother had "no filter". That he'd blurted out something he wasn't supposed to to Hank Voight that had gotten her in a bit of a dog house. But Dr. Charles hadn't yet really witnessed that chattiness in the kid.

It was an interesting thought, though. The other Voights he'd met definitely weren't exactly chatty people. He wondered if that was just a personality thing with this boy or maybe part of being the youngest and an attention seeking behavior or maybe it really did have something to do with his brain damage, which had been what Erin had suggested at the time. That she couldn't even be mad at him because he was just a kid and he had brain damage and he didn't know what he was saying half the time.

Dr. Charles wasn't sure he entirely agreed with that assessment. Watching this boy, he was pretty certain that he had enough cylinders firing – and was old enough – that he certainly knew what he was saying most of the time. He likely didn't think before he spoke. But that was true of most teenaged boys. Or men. Or the entirety of the human race. So, to Dr. Charles, the larger question was if Ethan knew what he was feeling. And even larger than that, if he had the resources to cope with the emotions he was feeling.

And that was a big proposition. The kid had a lot on his plate for any child his age. The mind and mental and emotional maturity just wasn't had the point that he'd be able to process it all without the proper tools and supports. It'd be a lot to ask of any thirteen-year-old boy. But of a thirteen-year-old boy with brain damage when often times that has huge impacts on their mental, social and emotional development?

He thought that Hank did have a right to be concerned. That everything that was happening in the boy's life right now – in his family's life – was very likely to reveal some things about the true extent of his brain damage. These kinds of situations did that. They pushed people over the edge and out of comfort zones. Where with a lot of kids Ethan's age you might not see it until puberty or high school or graduation and them trying to enter the work world or college. Stressful, life-changing moments.

But Ethan had clearly gotten bumped ahead in having to deal with any of that. Perhaps all of it. Though, you never dealt with all of it at once. You could never push the elephant out of the room whole. You had to work on it bit by bit. Slowly unpack it and dismantle it to get it out of that room.

And that certainly wasn't something he could do in one short, informal session with this kid. It was also something he suspected that his colleagues at the Brain Trauma Center or the Rehab Institute might be better equipped to assess and treat in the long run. Though, an initial conversation certainly wasn't going to hurt anyone.

And he suspected that this little get-together had just as much to do with calming Hank's nerves and lowering his stress than it did with tackling any of his son's problems.

The kid gazed at his plate, which was likely getting close to cold. "It's OK, I guess. I just usually just like to get cereal for breakfast when we go out. Dad doesn't let me have cereal at home really."

Dr. Charles nodded and examined him a bit, straightening slightly from his hunched breakfast intake.

He'd been getting some interesting glimpses of Hank as a father the past couple years. And, he supposed a husband and a family man. He wasn't the kind of person you naturally applies those labels to on first meetings. It was a bit of a slow growth, a realization, the more you interacted with him and he left little bread crumbs about his personal life. He was always rather private – if not outright secretive – about most of it. That was interesting too. Though, Charles supposed it was also understandable given his profession and his understanding of the kind of work and operations that Hank Voight had been involved in in the past and the kind of situations and trouble that work had got him in. Whatever parts of that was true or not. There was enough evidence out there that at least some of it was more than just stories. And there were certainly stories and whispers going around about him again these days.

But Charles preferred not to participate in any of that in the border sense. Too much thinking in your own head and not enough real listening tended to get you in some trouble. You missed the bigger picture.

With Hank Voight, the bigger picture was that Sharon liked him and respected him quite a lot. And she and him had a long history. A history that was almost equally as long as the one she shared with Hank Voight. It seemed like the older you got working in this city, the more people you knew. Not because you were making new connections but just because your circle was growing smaller and closer. You had to have some respect for the old guard that was still around. The ones you kept seeing off and on over the years. The ones that had stuck it all out too. And Hank Voight was among those Old Timers. A rather grizzled version of one was the truth of the matter.

Dr. Charles didn't have any reason to dislike Hank either. Some of the things he'd heard about him over the years – or presently – were a little questionable. But, the game of telephone that had happened in him hearing them was just as questionable too. Never believe everything you hear. People often lie to themselves as much as they lie to you.

What he did know was that Hank Voight had been through quite a lot. As a man and as a cop and as a husband and father. More than some men would ever go through in their lives. And, he'd clearly manage to preserve against the odds. Charles wasn't exactly sure he'd described him as a stable type but he wouldn't quite diagnosis him with some psychosis or personality disorder either. Aggressive, slightly anti-social – yes. But, he knew a lot of men who were like that. He'd had a lot of patience over the years like that.

What was clear, though – after you interacted with Hank Voight more than a handful of times – was that he cared very much for his children. Rather intensely – and even though he came across as rather strict, somewhat overbearing and stern to the point that some might label him as cold – Dr. Charles had seen enough to know that it was just part of the tough guy cop front that he presented. That the man may be a bit of a tight ass when you got down to it, but he'd also walked by some of the bays in the E.D. when he'd had Ethan in and seen the man holding at his son's hand and offering him level and comforting words. He'd attended the floor Hank's older boy was on after the life support was turned off, in case any of the family needed some immediate counseling and support, and though that had been declined, he did see that Hank Voight had the ability to cry – and in front of his children. And that his children openly sought out – and returned – hugs and comfort with him too.

All of that was far more telling than any of the rumors making the rounds, as far as Dr. Charles was concerned. Even if it was an interesting tidbit that Hank was enough of a hard-ass at home that cereal wasn't allowed. But he imagined that the Voight household had quite a lot of rules and regulations. He also imagined that would be a challenge when dealing with a young teen who was sick already and now grieving and who was primed to test the boundaries anyways – all the while while you're trying to manage it as a single father working a high stress and time consuming job with your own grieving happening too.

It all just sounded like adding more and more to the hopper. It really was likely only a matter of time before the family had some sort of combustion or eruption. A bit of a Russian Roulette to determine which one it would be. Though, Dr. Charles would likely place his bets on it being Hank. Children tended to be a little more resilient than adults – especially if they were given the proper supports and resources. Support and resources that Dr. Charles knew – clearly – that Hank would seek out for his children but he somehow doubted he'd seek them for himself.

But this wasn't about Hank. It was about his son.

"So you like cereal but you don't like oatmeal?" he asked, noting the only cereal option he'd noticed on the menu.

"Not really," he allowed.

"I think most people see oatmeal as a cereal," Dr. Charles offered.

Ethan shrugged. "It's gross. So this is kind of gross too," he added and pushed his waffle away from himself slightly.

Looked like his dad had probably tossed away $10 on that breakfast attempt. Though, he thought he knew Hank Voight well enough that the food would still be put in a doggie-bag and possibly shoved down his son's throat at a later hour. That seemed about right, actually.

"Besides," Ethan muttered. "Jay makes way better banana pancakes than here. And Dad makes way better French toast than here. And blueberry compote."

Charles allowed a small smile at that and stabbed another piece of his breakfast onto his fork. It was another quiet reveal about the kind of man and father Hank Voight was when he wasn't under a spotlight.

"I have heard rumors that your dad is quite the cook," he acknowledged.

Ethan gave an unconscious nod that was accompanied by a much more conscious and purposeful shrug. "It doesn't really matter that this place is sub par and gross because Erin's going to live near here soon and then we'll never come where anymore anyways."

Charles cocked his eyebrow at the boy again. Another interesting comment that was quite possibly very telling about just where the family was at right now. "Why's that?" he asked and put another forkful in his mouth, giving it a slow chew while he waited for the kid to reply.

But Ethan just sighed at him and glanced back toward the front door of the restaurant that Hank had gone out. He eyed out the glass, squinting his bespectacled eyes as he tried to spot the man. He didn't think Ethan looked that healthy that day. He looked tired and the fatigue was only being proven with the tremor he'd been watching in the boy's hand. He'd wondered if that was part of the reason the kid didn't like his waffles. It was more a matter of eating in front of a stranger. Or perhaps the utter embarrassment that his father had cut up a quarter of it for him when it'd been brought to the table.

Dr. Charles thought the kid had bigger things to be embarrassed about. But try telling that to a thirteen-year-old. Especially one who'd shaved the patchy hair he had left on his head into a Mohawk. Ethan likely thought it looked cool but Dr. Charles thought it looked a little silly with how patchy even the remaining hair on his head was.

He was a little surprised the new coffer was being allowed at home. It didn't really look like something Hank would approve of in his Alpha male personality front.

Dr. Charles suspected the presence of the hair might be telling too. About what battles Hank might be choosing to do with his son at the moment and what ways Ethan might be trying to express himself or differentiate himself or just deal or maybe even disassociate. And, he suspected the hair might be short-lived anyways. Gone by next week when he was sure the private school he knew Ethan attended would deem it unbecoming to their dress code on his first day back.

But the real tells on the state of Ethan's health was how pale his skin looked and how bloodshot his eyes looked. The glasses only seemed to be accentuating it as he searched for his dad.

But he wasn't going to have much luck. Hank Voight had conveniently – and smartly – stepped out of sight. The plan was that he'd go two doors over to grab a coffee more to his liking at the neighboring café.

Ethan sighed louder and turned back to face him. "I know we didn't just run into you here," the kid said.

"Oh?" Charles put to him, arcing his eyebrow innocently. No, this kid wasn't stupid and he really wasn't that dense.

"Dad almost never takes me out for breakfast on a work day. He likes to be to District by seven-thirty."

"Hmm …," Charles acknowledged and put some more food into his mouth.

"And we never come here. Ever. Not unless Erin's coming for breakfast with us and it's where she really wants to go. Because me and Dad don't like it."

Charles gave a little nod. "I'm getting that impression."

"So I know Dad isn't really taking a call from work," he said.

"Oh?" Charles allowed again.

"Dad doesn't like talking on the phone," Ethan said. "He wouldn't be gone this long. And if it was something important from work, he'd have come back and said he needed to go."

"Hmm …," Charles nodded again and this time washed it down with his own sip of coffee. Hank might be onto something going next door for a top up. The coffee in here wasn't great considering the prices.

"And, I know you're friends with Dad—"

"Friends is likely overstating it," Dr. Charles interrupted and set his coffee back down on the table. "We're more … colleagues who occasionally cross paths because of our work."

"Well, I know what you do at the hospital," Ethan put to him more directly.

Charles squinted at him, giving his head a slight inquisitive tilt, as he leaned forward. "What is it that I _do_ at the hospital?"

Ethan took a deep breath and slumped back into the booth, crossing his arms protectively over himself and eyeing him. "You're a shrink," he put flatly.

Charles allowed him a little smile at that and straightened with a shrug as he looked back to his plate again. "That's my job title. Psychiatrist. Technically. But I'm not sure that's exactly what I _do_ at the hospital."

It actually didn't seem to come anywhere close to covering what that actual job entailed. What you really did in the course of a day or week or shift or lifetime at the hospital. The patients you helped – or didn't – and the things you ended up dealing with. It wasn't just psychiatry that you practiced when you worked at a hospital. It was so much more than that. On so many different levels.

Him sitting in that diner just proved it once again.

"Whatever …," Ethan muttered under his breath and again looked over his shoulder to the door. It was starting to look more like he was plotting his escape rather than look for his dad. His eyes drifted back. "I've already got shrinks. Two. A regular one and one at the Rehab Hospital."

"Hmm …," Charles acknowledged and just left it at that.

The truth was, he knew that.

He knew too that this was likely just a one-time meeting with Ethan – and it was purely as a favor to Hank, much like him sitting down with Erin a handful of times in the year previous. And, even though he'd had extremely limited interactions with Ethan Voight previously, he knew enough about what was going on in the family's life, that he could more than understand the need for the boy – and really all of them – to be getting some psychological help.

He also knew that Hank must've been pretty rattled by whatever conversations he and his son had been having in recent days for him to call around midnight and ask if he could talk to Ethan. That Hank didn't think he'd be able to get Ethan into his regular therapists for a few days and he felt that he needed someone to assess his son sooner rather than later. To listen to him and to tell Hank how to talk to him.

Dr. Charles wasn't sure how much help he'd be on the latter, but he could accommodate on the former.

"That's likely a good thing," Dr. Charles provided. "From what I do know about what you're dealing with, it sounds like you have a lot to carry."

Ethan's eyes drilled into him with some annoyance. "What'd Dad tell you?"

Charles gave him a little shrug – he was getting good at them too - and went back to picking at his plate.

"Oh, not much," he allowed. "Just that you're grieving. That you're feeling a lot of anger and confusion about what happened," he said and looked right at the kid. "Which is perfectly normal, by the way. But maybe, if we talk a bit about what you're dealing with and how you're feeling, we can help you find some healthier ways to cope with it all. That maybe will make it just a teeny-bit easier in the long-run."

Ethan slumped and continued his glare. "I already said I have two shrinks."

Charles allowed a little pout at that and glanced around a bit. "Yeah," he agreed. "But they aren't here right now and I am. So maybe we should talk?"

"Is he paying you by the hour?" Ethan spat at him.

Charles gave him a little, amused smile at that. "Wouldn't that be nice?" he said and took a sip of his coffee again, gesturing at his plate. "But I really did just come for the pancakes. I'm supposed to be on this diet and I don't get—"

"I. Don't. Care," Ethan pressed at him.

He shrugged and picked up his fork again. "OK," he acknowledged. "No need to be rude."

He started to work on finishing his last pancake. He'd been trying to nurse it – to make it last for his entire conversation with Ethan. But he didn't get the impression it'd be lasting that much longer anyhow. Not that his first few sessions with Erin had lasted more than a few minutes at a time either. But, he felt a little more concerned about where Ethan was right now – and where his father was – than what he had with Erin Lindsay. Though, he suspected he should likely have some growing concern about her too based on his observations of the boy and his father.

Both of Ethan and Hank were still clearly in fragile states. But it'd been barely a month. These things take time. A long time given how Justin Voight had died and some of the family's checkered past history. None of them had lived particularly easy lives. Though, he'd heard worse than the Voights. Far worse. He didn't shock easily anymore. But he generally felt rather sad for humanity more often than not. If you did this job long enough you were bound to get depressed.

"How long is my dad making me sit here with you?" Ethan demanded.

Charles shrugged. "He's not making you sit here with me. He's in the coffee shop next door, if you wanted to leave now. Otherwise, I'm sure he'll be back as soon as he's done his coffee."

Ethan glanced at his father's vacated spot. "He's got a coffee here."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be back for that too," Charles acknowledged. "And, you know, to pay the bill. I was promised pancakes in this deal."

"So he is paying you?" Ethan accused.

"Well, I suppose so. If you see pancakes as a form of currency?"

Ethan huffed at him and crossed his arms even tighter. But even with the invitation to leave – the direction to his father's probable location – the boy didn't budge, and that said more than words in that particular moment.

"You know, I was surprised by the pancake house too," Dr. Charles added in a small tease. "With your dad being a cop, you know, I would've thought maybe … donuts. Not that I would've turned that down either."

Ethan hugged his arms against himself, staring at his pushed aside breakfast. "Dad likes a real breakfast," the kid was quietly. "Not processed, sugary crap."

Charles allowed a little smile around his efforts to swallow down his processed, sugary crap. It did very much sound like Ethan was quoting his father verbatim and it was a slightly humorous to hear it coming out of a boy's mouth rather than a grouchy old man's. "Well, then I'm sure he really liked what I picked off the menu."

Ethan cast him a little look. "He says it's the most important meal of the day."

Charles nodded and prepared another forkful of food. "A lot of people say that. Science says that."

"Not that," Ethan blurted with some force. "He says it because he says it's the best meal to have a real conversation at. Because your head is still on straight and your eyes are still fresh and you're ready to start a new day on a new foot. That breakfast is when real men talk."

"Hmm …," Dr. Charles allowed giving him a careful examination at that monologue and weighing it.

The cult of Hank Voight? He supposed he'd witnessed some of that in Erin too. It was interesting. He certainly didn't demand that much respect and adoration out of his daughters. He didn't want to think about what quotes his girls would attribute to him but he doubted they'd be said with the kind of firm reverence that Ethan had just spouted at him. It was about the first forceful comment that seemed to have some real belief and stability behind it.

But all Dr. Charles did was point at the waffle plate that'd been pushed away. "So if you don't want to talk, you may still want to eat some more of your breakfast. I think that'd make your dad feel a little bit better about things."

"What kind of things?" Ethan demanded, the reverence slipping away quickly and the anger creeping back into his tone.

Dr. Charles shrugged. "He might've mentioned you haven't been eating very well since your brother died. Which, again, is normal. Sometimes appetites can really change when we're grieving. But, Ethan, you still need to take care of yourself."

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" Ethan pressed at him again.

"Breakfast?" Dr. Charles asked with a bit of confusion at what part of the statement that boy was attaching to with such anger.

"No," he spat. "About 'taking care of myself.' About me saying that I wished it was me who was dead?"

Dr. Charles cocked his eyebrow at the boy and set his utensils down – done with his meal for the moment. Right now Ethan needed his full attention.

What he'd just said wasn't something Hank had mentioned in their very brief conversation and the very brief briefing he'd received about where Hank felt his son was at. It was an interesting omission. And a likely purposeful one – and he was going to have to reflect on what that meant as well.

"And what did you mean when you said that?" Dr. Charles put to Ethan.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Ethan said. "At least not the way he's taking it."

"How's he taking it?"

"Like I'm going to kill myself or something," Ethan spat at him. "But I already told him I didn't mean anything by it."

"You must've meant something by it," Dr. Charles tried again.

"I just meant exactly what I said," Ethan said. "That I wished it was me. That it'd be easier if it was me."

"I don't think your dad or your sister would find it much easier," Dr. Charles offered.

Ethan stared at the edge of the table. "That's what Dad said."

"Well, Ethan," Charles provided, "I think that's because your dad really cares about you and because he's pretty worried about you right now."

The kid ran his finger along the edge of the vinyl and metal of the table. Back and forth and back and forth as he delayed his response. "Does that mean you're going to be telling him anything I say," Ethan muttered.

Dr. Charles rested his elbows on either side of his plate and leaned forward slightly, stooping a little more than his usual slump to really catch the kid's eyes. It was enough that they briefly darted to him, assessing his movement and intentions again, but then went back to watching his finger trace back and forth nervously along the edge.

"I think your dad asked me to talk to you this morning because maybe the two of you are having a little bit of trouble communicating right now. So, I think your dad is hoping that if I'm able to tell him a little bit about what we talk about this morning, that maybe that'd help him figure out how to be there for you a little bit better right now. And, I think that's something that might really help you and your dad," he put back to him gently.

The kid gave him a little glance at that – another reassessment. But apparently it hadn't been enough of a reassurance because Ethan again looked away.

"I don't have to tell your dad everything we talk about, Ethan," he put more directly. "But if you're thinking about hurting yourself – that is something I need to tell your dad and that's something we need to get you some help with. Right away."

"I'm not," Ethan hissed out.

Dr. Charles gave a little nod. "OK. But were you before? When you said that to your dad?"

"No," Ethan spat hard and glared at him. "That's not what I said and it's not what I was thinking."

"What were you thinking?" Dr. Charles put to him.

The kid sighed hard and ran his finger along the table even faster. "That it'd be easier. That none of it would feel like this."

"Well, none of it would feel like much of anything if you were dead," Dr. Charles put to him and the kid glanced up at him. "But you wouldn't feel the good things either."

"What good things?" the kid put to him pointedly.

"Are you having trouble seeing any good things in life or the world or people around you right now, Ethan?" he asked again.

The kid just huffed at him and looked down again. So Dr. Charles gestured at the Cubs cap that Hank had batted off the kid's head when he hadn't removed it himself when they sat at he table.

"The Cubs are having a great season," he said when the kid glanced at his hat. "That's a good thing." The kid just gave him a look. Charles shrugged. "Football season starts in a couple weeks. You like football?"

The boy squinted. "Not really."

"Hmm …," Dr. Charles nodded. "Well, that's likely a good thing too."

"My brother liked it," Ethan allowed. "And my dad. And hockey."

He nodded. "Do you like hockey?"

"More than football," Ethan muttered.

"Well, hockey season will be here any day now too. And the Hawks? They always have a good season, right?"

The boy shrugged. And Dr. Charles gave another little nod.

"And school starts again on Tuesday, right? You're going into … Grade Eight? Last year of junior high? That must be exciting."

"I don't want to go back to school," he near whispered.

Dr. Charles raised an eyebrow at him. "Why not?"

Ethan huffed louder and glared at him, turning his face to show off his visible scarring and holding out his tremoring hand to gesture at where his crutches were left leaning against the end of the table.

"Look at me," he demanded, "and now I'm not just the fucking freak show, I'm going to be the kid who's brother died and everyone is going to know."

"I'm sure there must be other students at the school who've lost parents and siblings and all kinds of loved ones," Dr. Charles said. "Everyone does. But it's not something that everyone needs to know about – not if you don't want them to."

"It's Catholic school!" Ethan spat at him. "They're going to want to do a mass and pray for Justin's soul and all kinds of bullshit. It will be on the announcements and everything."

"Mmm …," Dr. Charles allowed, measuring if that was an over-exaggeration but knowing that Ethan needed reassurances even if it was. "Well, I'm sure that's something that can be resolved with a simple phone call to let the school know that your family doesn't want your brother's death recognized in that way. And, I'm just as sure, that's a phone call that your dad would be happy to make for you. It's something that can be fixed pretty easily, Ethan."

"It doesn't matter," Ethan muttered, his eyes falling again in self-defeat. "No one there likes me anyway. I'm in the retard class. I don't have any friends at Iggy's. They all think I'm a freak. And a loser."

It was an interesting measure of the self-worth and self-esteem issues that Ethan was likely having. Pre-teens – teens – it was going to be an issue with most. But it was usually elevated in kids with brain damage, especially the ones with physical manifestations from the trauma too. A lot of them had difficulty making friends and relating to others in their age group. But that was likely more issues for his usual therapist to work with him on. He didn't doubt that it was an area they'd put a lot of time into already.

Still, he had to acknowledge this was going to be an extra rough year for Ethan if he was finishing up middle school, anxious about high school, dealing with turmoil at home, and coping with grief. And for it to all be when he didn't seem to feel he had much support from other kids around him. 'No friends' was a loaded term and was usually a situation that had multiple implications. None that could be fixed that easily. You can't very well force people to become friends, even if Ethan could be taught how to put himself out there to try to make friends and to relate to other kids a bit more easily.

"Well, you've got your dad and your sister and that little nephew of yours. And I bet even if they annoy you a bit and even make you a little angry sometimes, they're all very good things," Charles encouraged.

"Olive took Henry and left," Ethan said under his breath.

Dr. Charles squirmed back a bit in his seat and looked at the top of the boy's head at that. "Left?"

Ethan gave him a glance. "They moved to Arizona because Olive says being in Chicago is full of too many memories and too sad right now," he put flatly.

"Mmm …," Dr. Charles allowed, gazing upward a bit as he processed that. Another part of the picture that Hank had left out in the briefing. But that would be a big piece of the puzzle in how the family was – or wasn't – coping right now.

"And Dad and Erin are fighting," Ethan added. "So she never comes over now."

Dr. Charles shifted his eyes back to the kid. "What are they fighting about?"

Ethan shrugged and slumped in the booth. "I dunno. They won't tell me."

"That must be frustrating," Dr. Charles put forward in more effort to relate to the kid.

"Yea …," he whispered quietly.

"Maybe they're just really hurting too?" he offered. "And maybe because of that your dad and Erin are having some trouble talking right now, just like maybe you and your dad are having some trouble talking right now?"

The kid sat there a long time. The edge of the table seemed to be pretty fascinating. But Dr. Charles just gave him the space. You couldn't force patients to talk. Not that Ethan was quite his patient – but he was someone's. So he waited.

"I don't remember it hurting this much when my mom died," the boy finally said quietly.

Dr. Charles drummed his fingers on the table briefly, patting his hands on top of each other. "Well, from what I understand about that, Ethan, you were pretty little when your mom died."

"Seven …" Ethan whispered.

"That's still pretty young," Dr. Charles allowed. "And, my understanding is that you were pretty hurt and maybe you really don't remember much about what all was happening then. So it's likely a little hard to remember or know what you were feeling then. It's a very different set of circumstances than what you and your family are going through now."

"So maybe Justin was right – that I should've died then. Not Mom. And then I wouldn't feel any of this now and maybe everything would've been different."

"Well, I'm pretty sure everything would've been different then," Dr. Charles said, catching his eyes again. "But it wouldn't have been better or easier for anyone. It just would've been a different path."

"But then maybe Dad would've still had Mom and Justin and he would've been happy and Erin too," Ethan whispered.

Dr. Charles shook his head. "I don't think that's quite the way it would've worked, Ethan. From what I've heard about what happened then, you're family is very lucky that you're alive. So I think with the scenario you're talking about, it's more likely that the alternative would've been your dad would've lost your mom and you and that would've been doubly as hard for him and your sister and your brother. Not better and not easier."

The kid just kept looking down and Dr. Charles examined him while patting his hands on the tabletop some more. "Is that something your brother really said to you? That it should've been you who died? Not your mom?" The kid just shrugged. Dr. Charles nodded. "And you're sure that he didn't just mean that you were really hurt and your family was really worried for a while that they might lose you too? Because I'm sure they were."

Ethan's eyes drifted to him. "Justin didn't like me."

Dr. Charles gave him a little frown but nodded. "Your dad mentioned that you and your brother had a bit of a complicated relationship. And that maybe your brother hadn't been that supportive of you or every understanding since your multiple sclerosis diagnosis."

"Not because of this year," Ethan pressed out with some anger. "Because of always. Because he didn't even try. Because he screwed up our whole family when he went to jail and now he's screwed up our whole family again," Ethan hissed out and pressed his knuckles harshly into the metal going around the end of the table.

It was going to leave a mark. And if he pressed much harder, he'd likely find a way to break the skin. So, Dr. Charles reached and pulled the table a little bit closer to him. Only about an inch. That's all his belly would allow. But it was enough to cause Ethan's fist to fall into his lap – and enough to stop any potential self-harm behavior, because that wasn't an area they needed to start weighing into. Though, he could see that it was definitely an area that both Ethan's father and his doctors and therapists were going to have to be watching for.

Dr. Charles caught the boy's eyes again when he looked up at him with some rage at the furniture adjustment. "OK," he allowed. "So maybe you two weren't on the best terms when Justin died."

"Because he could be a complete asshole," Ethan spat at him harshly but then looked down again. "But that doesn't mean he deserved to be shot in the head. To die. Because he was a good person. He could just be a jerk … sometimes."

"And, I could see how all of that could make some of the things you're feeling really confusing, Ethan," Dr. Charles said. "But you're allowed to be angry and sad and mad and confused and frustrated about all of this."

"I know," Ethan said in firm staccato.

"OK," Dr. Charles nodded. "But did you know that you're allowed to remember the bad things about Justin just as much as you're allowed to remember the good? You don't just have to remember and talk about the happy things and the good times. You're allowed to feel like maybe he was a bit of a jerk. And maybe he'd been a little self-centered and not that supportive. Because that's part of your relationship and your memories too. Everyone is made up of some good and some bad. Our memories of people are too. And coming to terms of that – it's part of the grieving process too. And it can be messy and upsetting and frustrating and confusing. But any of what you're feeling is not wrong."

Ethan gazed at him – for a fleeting moment – but then again went back to running his fingers along the edge of the table. But maybe they'd made a little bit of progress. A small connection. That some groundwork had been laid for him to made mediate on and digest a bit.

"You've got a lot you're carrying around, Ethan," he put out to him one last time. "It's a lot to live with. But, I know, you're young and it's hard and it hurts right now – but you're still got a whole lot to look forward to and to keep living for. So maybe instead of just trying to swallow all this whole – because you aren't a snake, Kiddo, that's just going to end up hurting your insides even more. So maybe let's look at this as a bit of an elephant in a room. Something's happened to you – to your family – that is real hard to ignore. Ignoring it isn't going to make things any better. It's just going to get that elephant trampling over things in your space or taking some pretty stinky poops in that room you've got him confined in. And that's no way to live either. So what you've got to do – what me and your dad and your sister and your other doctors are willing to help you do – is to get that elephant out of the room. But to do that, we aren't going to try to deal with this in one big gulp. We aren't just going to swallow it down and pretend that big potbelly the elephant's made isn't weighing us down. So we're going to go at this a bite at a time."

The kid just looked at him. And looked and looked.

It was going to be a long hard process for Ethan. That much was clear. It was for the whole family.

But Dr. Charles was a big believer in the elephant process. It was achievable. It just took work to move something that big.

"So, what I need for you to do, Ethan, is tell me what maybe you think that first little bite you want us to take together is?"

Because maybe that bite would be enough to warm up his appetite. And maybe that little appetizer would be enough to pass along to his father so that Hank could start directing these conversations – this healing – taking the machete to the elephant – on his own. And then maybe Hank could start using it on his own elephant too.

Because it wasn't just Ethan who had one stinking up and crowding his space. Not at all.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: I've wanted to play with Dr. Charles' character for a while. So this was interesting. Your readership, comments, feedback and reviews are much appreciated.**

 **It's still going to sporadic updates for a while but I do have several chapters planned including a Hank/Erin, another Hank/Ethan, a Hank/Ethan/Platt, a Jay/Will and playing with some scenes and plot points from the show while also delving farther into ones introduced directly in these AU stories.**


	13. Great Escape

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin started as she came out of the locker room and once again last walking right into Hank as he leaned his shoulder again the wall in wait.

He was doing this too much lately. Cornering her every time he noticed she was taking a pee break and trapping her down that hallway without an easy means of escape. It was starting to piss her off. He wasn't respecting her boundaries and her efforts to establish them. She still had to work with him – but that didn't mean she had to talk to him or associate with him in any way outside of the job. She was doing her best to keep it professional. He wasn't.

Not when he kept doing this. It was making her uncomfortable. If any other men was blocking her down an isolated hallway at the entrance to the locker room – she wouldn't have many qualms about putting him in his place. Pushing back against it. Because it was harassment. But he somehow seemed to think he could get away with it.

She knew it was upsetting Jay too. Pissing him off. Making him just as uncomfortable. He kept giving her looks any time she came back down that hallway with Hank trailing after her moments later. He had undoubtedly seen Hank follow after her. It'd reached the point that Jay had asked if she wanted him to say something – because he didn't like it either. But she'd told him to just stay out of it. To not make the situation any more unprofessional. To not make it worse. To not give Hank any kind of reason to make their lives more difficult than they already were. So they were just sucking it up, which she hated.

"How's everything going?" he put to her. In that line he used every time. With that look on his face that he used every time.

She shook her head and looked away from – avoided his eyes – just like they were always doing anymore too. "Good," she provided flatly. The non-committal, non-specific answer they'd settled into. One that was truthful in a half-truth kind of way. Some things in her life were good. But this – what was going on with him, with what had been her family for so long – definitely was not.

"You can talk to me about anything," he said to her.

Again. That same line he kept using over and over. The one that had nearly become a plea even though he hadn't let his tone become begging yet. But it was a statement that felt pretty far from the truth anymore too. It felt like he was still living in a delusion. He was trying to get things back to a 'normal' they were never going to be at. And Erin didn't think it was a remotely normal that they could ever even achieve until he accepted that it wasn't going to be normal again. They weren't going to be.

No, she couldn't talk to him about anything. Not anymore. They weren't a family that spoke – that lived – in the good, the bad, the illegal and the ugly anymore. Because they'd delved to far into the latter there and there didn't seem to be so much of the first on that list now. And that wasn't something she could live with. It wasn't who or what she wanted to be. And it wasn't an anything she was ready to discuss. Not with him.

So she just nodded. Like she always did and she gave him the answer he needed to hear to get him to stop blocking the hallway: "Yea, I do. Thanks."

But this time when she moved to dodge around him, he extended his arm more, still blocking her path. She cast him a warning look.

"Then how come I've got to hear from Ethan that you're putting any offer in on a house," he pressed at her more directly, jutting his chin out in accusation.

"Hank …," she sighed and shook her head. She'd had enough. "You can't keep doing this. You can't keep accosting me down this hallway—"

His eyes softened at that. There was almost a surprise to them – like he hadn't fucking realized how intimidating and pushy he was being. How much he was holding her in an isolated place where she didn't want to be. That she didn't want to be there and she didn't want to be near him and she certainly didn't want to talk to him.

His arm dropped from the walk. Though he still stood in the center of the hallway.

"I told you to let me know when you were ready for me pull that money out of the account for you," he said more reasonably and slightly hurt. A hurt that she could detect because she knew him but likely not apparent enough to any other ears.

"We don't want your money," she said bluntly and this time did step to move passed him.

Though, he again stepped into her path, his eyes getting sadder. "Erin…," he said a bit more pleadingly.

"I'm selling the condo, we've taken out a loan, we've gotten pre-approved for a mortgage and we having savings. We're fine, Hank," she said firmly.

"Erin, it's your money," he put back to her with just as much force.

She shook her head and crossed her arms over his chest.

"Erin," he put to her again, tilting his head to try to catch her eyes but she didn't want to look at him. "It's what Camile would've wanted the money to be used for." He shook his head. "It's not about me. You won't owe anything to me if you take it – use it. It's yours."

She glared at him. "We don't want the money, Hank. We don't need it."

He sighed loudly as she really did push passed him, slightly knocking his shoulder as she did. She would've preferred to not have touched him but he was purposely taking of space – so it was what it was.

"Erin …," he called at her a bit more weakly.

She turned back to him and glared more harshly. "I'm not doing this here, Hank. We always had an agreement about what we talked about at work. We don't talk about this sort of thing at work."

"That rule kind of goes out the window when my daughter won't pick up the fucking phone when I call, doesn't it?" he rasped at her.

She shook her head at him. She couldn't stand hearing that word out of his mouth right now. 'Daughter'. For all the years she'd wanted that. That she'd treasured that she'd earned that title in his family. That she had the parents and the family of her choosing. That she was someone's daughter who matter and who she mattered to. But now? She didn't want it. Not to him. She didn't want to be related to him. She didn't even want to associate with him.

"I'm not talking about this here," she said under her breath and kept up her pace back into the bullpen, bee-lining for her desk and once again sharing a look with Jay, who looked more than a little concerned. She didn't doubt that their conversation had been far from private.

She'd hardly sat down at her desk, before Hank had sauntered back into the room, his fingers resting in his back pocket as he walked passed her desk, giving her a smack while he stared. Then he just stood by his office door – still staring at her while she tried to ignore him. It reached the point that she couldn't – because he was putting on a fucking show for the entire squad – one that she again didn't want to participate in but had once again been fucking drawn into by him.

He gazed at her and gestured through the open door. And she just wanted it to be over. So she smacked her pen down, loudly shut her file, pushed the keyboard away from her and stood up quickly enough to make her old chair rattle as it rolled away from her. Everyone looked. But they already were anyways – even if it was in awkward side-glances trying to inconspicuously take in the show.

She rounded her desk while he gave her another smack at that. She took her time walking the short distance to his door. Making sure he had to wait. Making sure he knew how unimpressed she was that he was doing this. And giving him a look to reaffirm it as she passed him into the room. He just did that fucking unimpressed pucker at her. That sour-puss face that he was such an expert at as he jutted his tongue into the side of his cheek. She wondered if he had any idea what kind of ass that face made him look like. Always.

But she kept that commentary to herself as she entered that space that she had no interest in being in and crossed her arms again as she stared at the wall and waited for him to close the door. He continued to give her an unimpressed look.

Until he finally said, "Two other times in your life where you didn't answer my calls for days on end. You got any idea what goes through my head when you don't pick up the damn phone?"

She cast him a look. "You see me every day at work, Hank. You know I'm fine."

He smacked at that and glared but finally shook his head and walked by her to slouch into his office couch. He gazed at her and gestured at the other end. "You want to sit down."

She shook her head. "Not really."

He sighed and sat forward, his elbows on his knees while he pressed his thumbs into his temples for several long moments before he finally gave her another look. His face had softened again.

"I'm trying to respect your boundaries, Erin," he said. "If I'm calling, it's for a reason."

"Why were you calling?" she put flatly. "If it was about the down payment – I don't have anymore to say about it."

He sighed at her again and again went back to staring at the floor in front of him, while he pressed at his temples – like he had a fucking giant headache. But she didn't have any sympathy for him there. Any headache he was experiencing was of his own making.

"It was about your brother," he finally said and gave her another softer and more pleading look. "Would you please sit down?"

She stared at him. Glared. She measured if he was using Ethan was a ploy. Something to tug at her heartstrings. To manipulate her. But if he was, he was using the right method and she shook her head in her own annoyance at herself before letting herself move to the couch – sitting as far away from him as possible and crossing her arms tightly for additional protection.

"What about Ethan?" she muttered straight ahead.

"He's struggling," Hank put to her – still leaning forward on his knees and seemingly struggling to look at her too. His voice sounded tired and weak when he said it.

But all Erin could offer was a shrug. "I know," she acknowledged.

Hank rubbed at his temples again and sat up straighter, staring at the wall ahead of them, as he crossed his own arms over his chest. "He's really struggling this week," he said. "He's talking about not wanting to go down to the tournament this weekend and not wanting to go back to school."

She just shrugged again. "OK …" That didn't sound too bad to her. Not wanting to go back to Iggy's was predictable. Not wanting to go to the Classics was a little surprising but maybe not shocking. Ethan was hiding himself away a lot lately.

Hank let out a slow breath and turned his head to look at her. "He made a comment last night about wishing it was him who was dead," he told her.

Erin's eyes sunk at that – along with her heart. "What?"

Hank shook his head and sighed, bouncing his hands farther into his armpits. "I don't think he meant anything by it. Not that way—"

"Hank," she spat at him. "You can't—"

He held up his hand to calm her a bit but she didn't like having it shoved into her space, even if it was just him digging it out of his armpit. "It upset me too. Scared me. I had him to see Dr. Charles this morning. Got him scheduled to go into his shrink tomorrow. Going to get him some scripts … to try to …" he made a dismissive gesture and shook his head, before going back to staring at the wall again. "Level him out. Get him some sleep …" he mumbled.

"Where is he?" Erin demanded.

Hank ran his hand up his forehead and scrubbed at the short hair on the top of his head for a moment. "Drop-in center at RIC. Said he doesn't like being at the house alone and don't really want him there alone right now."

Erin nodded. "OK …" she acknowledged, as she processed that. As her heart and her head worked to come to terms with it. To understand it. To try to figure out how to fix it. To make it better.

But she felt like she'd been trying to do that for the past month and she wasn't anywhere close to coming up with an answer. That she wasn't anywhere close to knowing how to help Ethan. To make it easier for him.

"Only a half-day program," Hank muttered. "I don't know what to do with him in the afternoons the rest of this week. And after school starts – if he's not going to take up any activity. I can't just have him sitting in his room staring at the ceiling or playing fucking video games or wandering the streets. Can't have him having all that time alone. Not with where his head is."

Erin sighed and looked at Hank. "What time does the drop-in end?"

"Two …," Hank said.

"OK …" she shrugged. "I'll take my lunch. I'll go get him. See if he can go to Evan's and if he can't … I'll bring him back here."

Hank scrubbed at his face, leaning forward on his knees again and slowly turned his head to look at her. "Erin, I'm not asking you to like me or to forgive me – but we need to work something out. For Ethan. He needs you. I need you to be there for him."

"I'm trying, Hank," she said with a small accusation.

He sighed and stared at the wall again. "What are you doing this weekend?"

She gazed at him. "Why?" she asked incredulously.

His shifted his eyes back to actually find hers again – and that time she let him. "Would really appreciate if you'd talk to him about still going to the Classics and told him that you'd come down to Omaha with us," he put to her.

"Hank—" she shook her head hard and looked away.

That was asking a hell of a lot. A whole hell of a lot. A weekend of baseball would've been a little much even before – especially one that involved an extended road trip to watch. But now? It just didn't work on any level. She wasn't going to sit in a car that long with Hank. Wasn't going to sit with him in the stands. Wasn't going to talk to him. Wasn't going to pretend that things were better. That they were a family. Wasn't going to put on the illusion. Not for anyone else and certainly not for him or Ethan. Because they all knew it was an illusion and it wasn't going to make anything any better.

"Erin," he put to her more firmly. "He's worked real hard in ball this summer. He deserves to go. I don't want him to just throw it away and he's not listening to me right now."

She shrugged. "OK," she allowed. "I'll talk to him about that. But I'm not coming to Omaha."

He kept looking at her – in that hunched over position where he looked so much like he'd been repeatedly kicked in the gut. "Know E would appreciate if you did," he said. "And I would too."

"Hank, I'm not going to lie to him or you by making that trip," she said.

He let out a slow breath. "No asking you to lie," he said. "I'm asking you to give the three of us some alone time as a family. Be nice if we could talk a bit. But, if we can't do that, I'd be happy if we could just practice being in the same space."

She sighed and stared at the wall. Her eyes setting on the picture of his father. But that was an image she didn't want to look at either and she shifted them away to his cluttered desk instead.

"Please," Hank put more directly. "Just give it some thought."

She shrugged. "OK," she said flatly. "I'll give it some thought." Because that was the answer he wanted to hear – that he needed to hear. But she thought it was likely just another lie she was telling him to be allowed to leave. "Can I go now?" she asked him more directly.

He frowned at her. His eyes tired and so fucking sad that it nearly made her hurt. But she was trying her damnedest not to hurt for him. Not to feel sympathy for him. Not him. Not right now. Not yet.

"Yea … sure," he shrugged.

She just nodded and stood up – making her escape. But she knew that was just another lie. She was never really going to be able to escape.

She was trapped in his tangled web and she likely wasn't ever going to be able to get out. Not now. Not ever. Not when Ethan was involved.

So Hank would always win. He'd always get it his way. Just like he liked it.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: A chapter was added ahead of this today (Elephant). Because it was less than 24 hours between posting, it likely didn't bump and maybe didn't send out a second chapter alert. Please make sure you didn't miss the previous chapter.**

 **Your feedback, comments and reviews are much appreciated.**


	14. Not Fast Enough

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Ethan stirred slightly from his flopped position against her as her phone vibrated on the hotel nightstand and Erin shifted to look at its screen. She knew it was either Hank, wondering why the hell she still had Eth in the pool, or it was Jay.

It was the much better option of the two and she shifted more under her little brother, lifting her arm off of the shoulder she'd been holding as she worked to keep his goose-fleshed body warm, and moving away.

"I'm going to take this," she whispered at him.

She didn't think he was entirely awake. He'd been really quiet. His munching on the bag of chips they'd gotten from the vending machine had stopped and he'd hardly moved against her for at least half-an-hour, as she rubbed at his shoulder and bicep while she stared at the screen. His breathing and heart rate had felt so slow. There'd been no audible reaction out of him at the carnage on the screen in front of them. She was sure he was asleep. He should be. He'd had a busy day. A busy few days.

She was feeling tired from it all too. Keeping up with a group of pre-teens and teenagers hyped up on sugar and excitement and adrenaline was a little much. Moving between multiple baseball diamonds in three connected park spaces while helping lug her little brother's and team equipment and snacks at every venue change. Back and forth between the diamond and the hotel and the big stadium where the final game of the Classics was being hosted and where the tournament seemed to be managing most of its events and registration and non-baseball food and outings from. Add in the beating sun, a whole lot of walking, a really long drive and managing her stress and emotions about being around Hank and she was drained. Beyond drained.

She'd been happy to just zombie in front of the movie. She'd be happier when Ethan was officially asleep – preferably back in his and Hank's room – so she could get some real shut-eye herself.

"But you're going to miss the end of the movie," Eth had whined quietly at her, as she pressed the answer button and moved to slip out from under his dead weight.

She gave him a small smile as she guided his sleepy looking head down to the pillows. She was pretty sure he was going to miss the end of the movie too.

She ran her fingers through his matted wet hair as he settled again. She likely really should've made him at least towel-dry it or pull out the hair dryer when they got back upstairs. With the air unit blasting in the hotel room, with their luck, he'd end up with a cold or ear infection or sinus infection from the wet hair. At the start of school and with his always shitty immune system.

"That's OK," she told him. "We missed the beginning of it. We'll have to watch it again at home."

He made some sort of mumbled response that she couldn't understand but shifted his eyes back to the TV screen. Apparently he was going to attempt to keep them open for the rest.

She allowed him a thin smile and put the phone to her ear as she straightened. "Hey …," she said.

"What movie you watching?" Jay asked, as she headed for the door to the hotel room.

"Hunger Games," she said.

"Which one?"

"The first one," she said with some hesitance as she pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, moving a few feet down from the door and leaning against the opposite wall. "I think…"

"Any good?" Jay asked.

She shrugged and gazed at her feet. "It's not bad. Kind of dark. He's likely going to want to watch the rest of them. Eva likes them."

She could feel his smile. "She Team Peeta or Team Gale?"

"I don't think we're watching the one where they have teams. Peeta's in the arena thing with Katniss," she mumbled.

He made a small amused sound. "For someone with a little brother, you so don't know your teeny-bopper pop culture," he teased.

"I know, I'm a horrible big sister …," she said.

"The worst …," he agreed quietly.

They both knew it was a lie. That it wasn't even much of a joke. She wouldn't be spending her weekend – using up days of her furlough – to be here, if she was that bad of sister. She wouldn't be carrying her brother's things and making sure he had food and snacks he could eat and tossing bottles of sunscreen at him and badgering him to sit down and take a break between games and innings rather than screwing around with the other kids if she was such a bad sister. She wouldn't take him down to the hotel pool so he could splash around with some of his friends and she wouldn't be laying in bed with a thirteen-year-old watching some pre-teen dystopia movie laden with angst and thinly veiled social and political commentary if she was such a horrible big sister.

Because she wasn't. All of them knew that. Her. Ethan. Jay. Hank.

They all knew that as much as she hated the situation they were all in now too – as much as she hated Hank for it, as much as she was hurting and grieving and confused and felt like she couldn't trust anyone except maybe Jay – that despite it all, she was still Ethan's big sister. That he was this fucking lynch pin that was going to force them to find some sort of common ground as much as she really didn't want to. As much as she wanted space. Needed it. That she wanted to try to move on and regroup and even forget.

Forget what? All of it. The past sixteen years of her life that had been a complete and utter fucking lie. To forget how she'd felt about Hank and how she'd seen him. To forget the family that she'd thought she'd made but that she couldn't think about now because none of it felt real. At least not real in the way she'd perceived it for all those years.

They weren't the people she'd thought. They weren't the people she wanted them to be.

They were fucking monsters. They were the bad guys.

Or at least that was what it felt like. That was a reality she couldn't seem to get to resolve.

All those things Hank had taught her about how to care for your city. What you did for your city.

It all felt so empty now. Dead. Just like so many people around her. Just like how she felt inside if she let herself dwell and think and spin too much.

She felt like maybe by keeping her mouth shut about where she'd been that night and where had had been and what she'd seen – and what might've happened and what he might've done and what she might've been complacent in … maybe – hadn't so much repaid that debt that she thought she owed him. It hadn't saved him or any of them. Not his life. Not hers. Not Ethan's.

It'd just killed them on the inside a little bit more. Because now they were here. In their own grave. In these fucking shadows of knowing and not knowing. And questions and suspicions and expectations. Of promises made and broken.

Just all these fucking lies that slowly ripped you apart. And that was exactly what it was doing. What it felt like. That they were all slowly dying. Just like Justin. Only theirs was going to be far slower than his. Likely more painful too.

And maybe she deserved that. Maybe Hank more than deserved that.

The problem with all of that, though, was that Ethan had been looking just as dead inside as she felt. And her letting that continue – not stepping up more – that didn't make her a very good big sister.

So as much as she didn't want to be there. Not now. Not with Hank. Here she was.

A quiet hung between her and Jay for a long time. She could hear him breathing. She liked that, though. It was enough to know he was there. And sometimes – these days – that was enough to kind of pull her through. He was down. He was there to catch her. He was actually likely holding onto the scruff of her neck pretty constantly to make sure she didn't fall.

Though, it'd been him who'd pushed her out of the nest – out of the attempted little safe zone with firm boundaries she'd spent the past month establishing. He did still have her pretty connected on electronic leash, though. She knew he'd likely have Mouse ping her phone if she wasn't responding to his texts or answering his calls. But she was. She needed that distraction – that connection and stability – to get through this too. And not just this weekend. All of it.

She just wasn't that used to talking to him on the phone. They hadn't had a lot of need for it in their relationship. If anything, they'd always spent more time together than probably anyone in a relationship should. But even then it wasn't like they talked a lot. They were pretty good at just filling space together. Just being there for each other. Being comfortable with that. And she liked that. They didn't have to fill all the quiet moments. Because they weren't awkward silences. They were just silences. Sometimes silence really could be golden. Sometimes just being together was enough. More than enough.

So they'd been doing a lot of that on the phone the past two nights too. Sharing the silence. Long ones. Though the night before, she'd had time and privacy. She'd lay in bed talking to him on the phone while not talking to him. Both watching the same channel and the same program across the miles. Just like at home.

They'd shared a bit of commentary about it. Some sarcastic remarks. How could you not when you were watching Hawaii Five O? Such a stupid and shitty show. But when you're stuck in a hotel with your little brother, away from your fiancée in a town like Omaha, you didn't get to be too picky about what you did with your evening. Her viewing choice likely did show how much she missed Jay.

She was sure he could've suggested some baseball game or documentary she could find on some other channel. But he hadn't. He'd just switched to what she'd been staring at when he called and shared the quiet with her.

They'd talked a bit but they mostly just listened to each other's breathing. For way too long. She didn't want to know what her phone bill was going to look like.

She'd fallen asleep just listening to him not saying anything on the other end of the line. Thankfully he'd hung up so her line had disconnected too and hopefully not run the bill up even higher than it was already going to be.

There was a bit of movement on his end now. Some rattling.

"How's packing going?" she asked.

"Not bad," he said and rattled around a bit more. Some paper crinkling. "You want me to keep my kitchen stuff or think you've got enough?"

She rubbed at her eyebrow and stared at the floor. "You mean like plates and cutlery?"

"Yea …," he muttered. "But pots, pans too. You know …"

"Keep your wok and that skillet," she said. He made a sound of agreement. "The rest … I don't know."

"Yea …," he muttered again. "I think most of it's going to go in the donation pile."

"OK …," she allowed as she tried to do a bit of a mental inventory of his kitchen.

But they didn't spend a lot of time at his place anymore, and when they had not much of the time had been in the kitchen unless it was to get beer out of the bridge. But she suspected beyond possibly his blender, most of her tableware, cookware and small appliances were nicer and newer than his. Mostly because she didn't really use them – even though buying them felt like the adult thing to do when she'd been all grown-up buying her condo too. Really it was just her coffeemaker, toaster and glassware that got the most use in the place.

"You end up hearing anything from Karen today?" she asked of their real estate agent.

"Yea," he allowed, still rattling away in the background. She could hear him taking plates and bowls out of the cupboards and working on wrapping them in newspaper.

She knew even if he had, he hadn't heard much – because they'd traded texts most of the day. She'd sent him pictures of Eth and "beautiful" Yawn-maha. Given him updates on the tournament. Only quasi tortured him with pictures of ball park dogs – which she promised him didn't compare to getting a Chicago dog at Wrigley Field. Or pretty much anywhere in Chicago for that matter. This was no Vienna beef or poppy seed bun or dragged through the garden with florescent relish and pickles and tomatoes and celery salt – make a mess of the 400 street meat lunch break. This was pretty much just a fucking red hot with the option of turning it into a "Reuben Dog" or putting Fritos on it. Both options, of which, had been beyond disgusting to her – almost as disgusting as them offering up ketchup as a condiment. So Jay really hadn't missed much. Really. He hadn't missed anything. Her weekend in Omaha was proving once again that she'd been born into the best city she could hope for. She sure was fuck wouldn't want to live her. That was for sure. It was way too squeaky clean. So squeaky that it was boring.

"She basically just said things aren't likely going to hear until after the weekend," he confirmed.

But Erin still made a bit of an annoyed sound at that. She didn't like this limbo moment of waiting on the offer. Whatever was happening behind closed doors with the owners and their real estate listing agent and lawyers. She knew that they had up to 72 hours to accept the offer or to send them back a counteroffer. At this point she really suspected it was going to be a counteroffer. They'd already had one back-and-forth with these people with them rejecting their initial offer and sending it back to their agent. Now they were waiting on that.

It was fucking annoying. When she'd bought her condo it'd been said and done in about eight hours. Waiting those eight hours was enough. This was fucking ridiculous. She was starting to think the owners weren't actually ready to sell. On the listing they could see the place had been on the market for nearly four months. It made you wonder what was fucking wrong with the place. But Erin knew the area of town – had spent half her life kicking around it – it wasn't that. It was a descent spot. And, she felt Jay was savvy enough about the whole home renovation thing, that if there was something really glaringly wrong they would've picked it up on their tours of the place. Though, their offer was still contingent on a home and property inspection, in case there were any nasty surprises lurking in there.

Erin's feeling, though, was that it wasn't that there was a nasty surprise. It was that the owners had in their heads they wanted a certain fucking price in a very specific offer and they weren't willing to budge. They could see what the starting price they'd asked for when it first gone up was too. It was unrealistic. Clearly their agent had managed to slowly get them to nudge it down the longer it stayed on the market without a sale. But even now, Erin's feeling was that they were a little over assessing it compared to other townhomes and apartments in the area. It wasn't like this was a brand-spanking new development that was all nice and shiny serving the university and the hospitals – professors and doctors. No. This place was pushing twenty years old.

So she'd called bullshit. No matter how much they liked the place or how conveniently it was located to District and Iggy's – and unfortunately Hank's – but more importantly to her baby brother.

"You need to be back to get everything signed anyway," Jay provided at the sound she'd made on her end of the line.

"They could still tell us if they're accepting the offer," she said.

He made a small sound that she recognized as one of his nearly indistinguishable sighs. His own frustration with the situation and the slow process. He hadn't dealt with putting in an offer before or all that was involved in getting a mortgage and buying a place. But he'd already expressed his own frustration with how long and complicated the process was. It wasn't going quite the way he expected either.

"Karen said that the appliances might be the sticking point," he said. "Why they're taking so long. That they're likely going to come back with another counter at this point."

"Well, if they're taking the appliances with them, we aren't giving them asking," she pushed back into the phone with mild annoyance.

"Hey," he put back to her. "I'm with you on that. I call bullshit too."

She sighed and slouched against the wall more. She was going to be so fucking pissed off if this fell apart because of the fucking appliances. But the townhouse was listed with the appliances. The appliances were in the fucking unit when they'd toured it – twice.

The owners couldn't just suddenly decide they were taking them with them and still except them to pay full asking price. Not having to go out and buy and transport and install their own appliances had been a selling point. Not to fucking mention a pretty standard perk of buying a townhouse. Though, admittedly, this was an older development. But the appliances had looked near brand new. They'd even asked about the year. That had likely tipped the owners off to the fact they wanted them, though.

Now they were being hard-asses about it. Trying to use it as a bargaining chip. But Erin wasn't willing to go asking price if the appliances weren't there. Not when they were going to have to drop thousands of dollars more to get all that bought and in the house. All the fucking hassle. She thought the owners were asking more than a little much for the place anyway.

They must really just not want to sell. That must be it.

She didn't know. She just knew that the wait time between putting in the offer and getting the response was stressing her out. Supposed they should've known better than to put it in before a long weekend – and before a long weekend she was going to be out of town. Though, she also knew that wasn't the real problem. The problem was on the seller's end – not theirs.

The door to Hank and Ethan's room opened and he stuck his head out, looking up and down the hall. He'd presumably heard her raise her voice in frustration. But he was more likely looking for Ethan. Though, she didn't doubt he knew they were back from the pool and in her room watching TV. It wasn't like this place was exactly soundproof. She could hear him watching TV through the wall too.

He stepped out a bit more when he saw her and gave her a small smack. She just pointed at her room door.

"He's watching a movie," she told him – actually making eye contact. "It's almost done. I'll send him over as soon as it is."

He just grunted and disappeared back into his room, the door clicking shut. She just sighed and shook her head again.

"How's that going?" Jay asked in her ear.

"Same …," she muttered.

She didn't really know what more to say about it. Especially in the hallway where it was obvious that he could hear her and was aware she was standing out there on the phone now.

"He still giving you space?" Jay asked instead.

"Yea …," she allowed.

"Talking at all?" he pried a bit more.

"Not really …," she said.

"Erin …," he sighed at her.

"Jay," she put back to him a bit more firmly.

He sighed at her in clear annoyance that was laced with his concern.

Jay had encouraged her to attempt some sort of conversation with Hank on the trip. Not to make nice, but to just try to find some way for them to settle into something that was more normal – for Ethan. To try to get them all back into some sort of routine and schedule that worked for everyone. That having the structure would likely make it easier for everyone.

Erin, though, wasn't sure she wanted to make it easier for everyone. At least not Hank. She wasn't sure he deserved for any of this to be easier. Not yet. No matter what he'd went through and how much he'd lost. The unimaginable losses he'd had – that she thought maybe she could at least imagine on some level, because she'd gone through them too. In her own way. She'd lost Camille and Justin too. She'd lost other things in her life. She'd had her own mountains to climb and holes to fall into and banana peels to slip on. She understood. In her own way. She could imagine. But she couldn't. Not now. Not anymore. Not who he'd become to her. What they'd become to each other. And how the fuck you ever moved beyond that?

Because maybe she believed in karma more than she thought. Or maybe it was just her latest application of her own sort of revenge.

Whatever they wanted to call it, making conversation with Hank just didn't feel natural yet. She wasn't sure if and when it ever would ever again. She didn't know what to talk with him about. She didn't really want to talk to him at all.

It'd made the 500-mile drive – seven hours stuck in the Escalade – more than a little long on Thursday night.

Ethan had filled some of it. He'd chatted away at some points but he'd actually been almost concerning quiet for him. But he was like that a lot anymore. He was closing in on himself and closing up – at least to them. And she knew the tension between her and Hank wasn't helping it either.

But he'd been a bit of an excuse to talk. They'd talked about some music they heard on the radio and some songs and bands that came up on the playlist on her phone and his – until Hank had decided he was the driver and he needed a break from their music. Or any music and turned it off.

They'd stopped a few times to stretch legs and eat and to use the restrooms. They'd passed some signs about different tourist sites that didn't sound that interesting. Not that there seemed like there were many attractions along that stretch of highway, especially ones open in the middle of the night as they made their charge across the Midwest.

Hank had pointed out they could pull off and go to the Hoover Presidential Library – maybe on the way back if they had time. That had at least managed to elicit a groan out of her and Ethan. Though, she wasn't sure Hank would care if it was something he decided he actually wanted to see or force as an educational moment on Ethan.

The chit-chat had been fine until Hank's music ban had lead to Ethan putting on his headphones and then ultimately falling asleep in the backseat. That left her stuck sitting next to Hank in the front. She was wishing she'd brought her headphones too. She likely had at least her earbuds in her bag, if he ever fucking stopped. But instead she'd been left trying to ignore him by staring out the fucking windshield and glancing at the fuel gauge, hoping that he'd have to stop soon so she could use it not only as an excuse to dig through her bag to see if she had her earbuds, but to create enough of a racket that she would cause Eth to stir awake and force him to switch spots with her. That way she could sit in the darkness of the backseat. To stay in the shadows that she'd prefer Hank would let their previous relationship settle into.

She really would've preferred she'd driven herself. But Jay had put up a fuss about her driving that far alone. She knew what the solution to that was – that he come too. But that just wasn't going to happen. Hank had been pretty clear in his preference that Jay not come. That it be "family time". Another thing she called bullshit on – because Jay was her family. He was prefer much her only family right now. Real family. Family she could trust. But he was Ethan's family too.

It didn't really matter, though. One of them needed to be in the city in case the owners did fucking accept the offer or put forward a counter offer and there was paperwork and legalities to attend to. And Jay was on on-call rotation that weekend anyway and scheduled to work the Monday. Getting furlough or a shift switch at the last minute wasn't going to be easy since Atwater and Adam had gotten the short-end of the stick for most of the holidays that summer – and weekends in general. Jay had also provided, if she wasn't around and he didn't have any reason to want to be at home, he could try to land some OT. And any little bit of that was helping these days. They'd need it for the next long while if these owners did accept their offer. And even if they didn't and they had to look at other options.

It all sounded like good reasons. But she also knew that as much as Jay was involved in all this – that he'd bought in, that he knew more than he likely should about what was going on – he also didn't want to get completely in the middle of the family drama. At least not the her and Hank drama. Not that way. He was keeping his distance. In some ways, she felt like he was almost being too supportive of Hank. Taking his side too much. Or at least telling her to fucking try harder. And that pissed her off too.

So if he wasn't going to come with them, she didn't see what the big deal was about her driving herself. She was a good driver. And it would've given her the freedom and space to not be attached to Hank and Ethan at the hip for the whole weekend. Though, that seemed to kind of be the point of the weekend.

It wasn't as awful as she might've imagined it to be. But it wasn't ranking high on her list of things she'd want to do again. Not for a very, very long time. So she just kept reminding herself she was doing this for Ethan.

"I don't know what you want me to talk to him about, Jay," she pushed back at him a little more forcibly and with her own annoyance at his sigh.

"I don't know," he said with a bit of an edge. "You could likely start with trying to figure out how we're going to work this come Tuesday."

"We aren't going to be able to figure out anything until we know if we've got the house and when we take possession," she said.

She could almost feel him shaking his head at her on the other end of the line. "He's going to need us before we take possession of the fucking house, Erin."

"I don't care what Hank needs right now."

"Ethan, Erin," Jay pushed back at her. "Not Hank. And I would kind of fucking like to know if we're going back to Taco Tuesday with a side of math homework too."

She smiled a little at that and scuffed at the floor with her barefoot. She should've put shoes back on to come out here. The hotel wasn't exactly a picture of cleanliness.

"Yea … OK …," she allowed. "I guess I can manage putting in a request that we get him on Taco Tuesday."

"Tacos and math are easy. We don't want Whatever Wednesday. Hump Day. He'd just get in the way of our whatever-ing," he put back to her.

She allowed a bit bigger smile. He could be such a dork. But she liked that about him. The front he put up versus the person he actually was. He was much more likeable than he let on. To the people that he actually let like him. Or even know him. Though, she knew what that was like too.

"So, if you didn't talk today, what did you do? I mean, besides send me sexually suggestive photos of you eating a hot dog," he asked.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at him. "I doubt you've ever actually received a sexually suggestive photo, if that photo was sexually suggestive to you."

"You mean that's not what a sexually suggestive photo looks like?" he asked. She could see the way he was cocking his eyebrow as the said it – trying to get a smile or any kind of reaction out of her.

"You ask Adam what it looks like when your girlfriend sends sexually suggestive photo," she told him. "Or Al."

"Gross and gross," he returned. And the silence hung again as he moved around the apartment. She could hear his feet on the sticky floorboards in his place. He'd changed rooms but she hadn't pinpointed where. Likely just the living space. Not that he had much to pack in there but they'd moved a lot of his clothes over already.

Maybe he was starting to pull his pictures off the walls. She knew he wanted to keep and display most of his artwork. They were likely going to have some battles over that. Their sense of décor didn't exactly jive. At all. She'd already decided that she'd probably try to regulate most of it to the basement, if they got the townhouse. Not that he was completely opposed to that. He actually seemed more than a little happy that he was going to have space for a man cave. Though, to him that seemed to mean he got to claim the entire basement, which wasn't exactly how she saw it.

His motorcycle mural could stay upstairs, if he wanted. She thought it'd likely be a nice one to have on the wall in one of the smaller two bedrooms. Maybe the one that they'd set up as a space for Eth to have when he was over. He'd likely like that. He seemed to getting into the whole planes, trains and automobile thing lately. She knew he liked Jay's double-mural that he had above his bed. She didn't mind it either. She just didn't really want it in the master bedroom of their new place.

"That selfie actually popped up while I was working out, so you know—"

"That it wasn't all that popped up …," she provided.

He made one of his quiet amused sounds. "You do know where my mind goes after a workout."

"That it makes you want to hit things more than usual?" Erin said.

"Only hit that one thing," he teased, the eyebrow arc transcending the miles again. "But that option wasn't available. Then you send that picture."

"Now I don't want to think about what you did with that picture," she said.

He made a louder amused sound at that, knowing she'd almost earned a laugh that time. He was taking pictures down. She could hear the small echo that proved he'd switched the phone to speaker and wasn't exactly next to it anymore. In the distance along with his voice, she could make out the scrape of the wire hangers as he lifted the frames off the wall and presumably lined them up on the couch next where he'd set down the phone.

"I actually didn't go to the boxing gym," he allowed. "Just a run. And you know what I ran by?"

"Lake Michigan?" she speculated sassily.

"Yeah, maybe that too. But I went into this electronics shop—"

"Ah …," she put back to him. "You just happened to conveniently run by an electronics store?"

She could feel his eye roll but she was rolling hers too. "Need to be prepared for if the offer goes through," he said.

"Jay," she said firmly, "we do not need a sixty-five inch TV."

"How about a fifty-five inch TV with a free Xbox One," he suggested coyly.

"We don't need either of those things, Jay," she said again. She felt like she was talking like a mother. Or at least a really fucking nagging wife. She wasn't sure she liked sounding that way.

"Would it make any difference if I told you it was 4K Curved Smart TV?" he asked sounding so much like an enthusiastic little boy.

"Should that make a difference to me?" she put back to him.

"Absolutely," he contended – like he was making some headway. Like if he now got to educate her on the latest and greatest of home entertainment technology she was definitely going to agree to let the monstrosity in her house and taking up space on her wall.

"Mmm …," she allowed. "But, unfortunately, nope. Doesn't make a difference to me."

She heard him let out a little sigh of defeat. But she also knew this wasn't a topic he was going to drop. Not yet. And she knew that as soon as they regrouped from the house and any associated fees and moving costs, it would be placed at the top of his must-have list. But that was likely going to be many, many months down the road. She hoped. Though, maybe she should just let him win this realm and get the damn TV. Or else she'd likely have to hear about this for months and months. Though, if he did get the TV she wouldn't likely see him for months and months. She imagined he'd be spending some quality time with said TV and all his fucking high-definition documentary collections. She'd be stuck watching Planet Earth with him again for the umpteenth time if she wanted to spend any time with him.

"How about if I told you that the Xbox came with two games and an extra controller and the Live subscription? And did I mention it's free."

"It's not free," Erin said flatly. "It's included in the cost. And, you don't need an Xbox either."

"Eth needs an Xbox," Jay returned just as flatly.

She sighed and scuffed her feet against the ground again, processing that. "He's got enough saved up for that," she finally managed. "He can negotiate with Hank about if he's allowed to get one."

"Or we could get the free one and keep it at the house until we convince Hank that Ethan needs it," he argued.

"Store it at the house? In a box or hooked up to the new fifty-five inch, 4K curved-screen Smart TV?" she asked pointedly.

"Undecided," he muttered into her ear.

"You don't need an Xbox, Jay," she told him again. "I can think of a lot better things you could be doing with your hands and fingers."

She could feel that eyebrow cock again. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Erin said. "Like finishing packing."

He allowed a quiet sputtered sound of amusement and didn't push the conversation any farther. Not right now.

"Any update on what tomorrow's plan is?" he asked. "You headed back?"

She shook her head, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "I think we're going to stay. There's some airplane museum he seems to want to go to. Hank thinks it sounds great too. Some plane they both want to see."

"Yea, they've got a Blackbird on display over there," Jay muttered in her air.

"That means about as much to me as a 4K Curved Smart TV," she said.

"Mach-3 spy plane from around the end of the Cold War," he provided. "You'll likely know it after you see it."

She just made a sound of acknowledgement.

"Sounds like a kind of cool activity," Jay said.

"Going to a plane museum?" she asked.

"Sure …," he said.

"If by cool, you mean awful," Erin contended. "It's such a boy activity."

"Well, what do you want to do in Omaha?" he asked.

"Exactly," she said. "There is nothing to do in Omaha."

Jay made another amused sound. "So then at least it's something to do."

She allowed another sound of acknowledgement. The quiet grunts of communication that she'd unfortunately learned from spending half her life around Hank.

Omaha actually might not be that bad if Jay was with her. If they'd taken this as their own weekend getaway. Though, she could think of other cities she'd like to visit before this one. But walking through the Old Market the night before there'd been some neat antique shops and record stores and old used book stores that she wouldn't have minded having some time looking around. Ones that she knew Jay would've spent an afternoon wandering through with her. That they would've beefed up their music collection some more. That they would've had dinner at somewhere way better than an all-you-cant eat Spaghetti Factory and that they likely would've gone into that retro-looking music dive to see what kind of band was on stage and to have a couple drinks. As boring as Omaha was, she was still pretty sure they would've been able to fill a decent weekend. They had with Cleveland. They had with St. Louis. They had with Green Bay and his cabin. She knew they could do it here too.

But he wasn't with her.

So instead she was watching Ethan take multiple trips to the salad bar rather than eating any of the rest of his meal. And she was accompanying him and his little friends in and out of candy stores full of things he couldn't have but wanted and toy and comic and hobby stores full of more things that he wanted to spend his money on that she talked him out of even though some of his friends were dropping cash on stupid-ass shit like they had an unlimited allowance.

And now she was going to get to spend her Sunday morning looking at airplanes. That was just about the cherry on top of her rather pathetic getaway.

"He decided if he wants to go watch the championship game?" Jay asked.

She nodded. "Yea," she said. "Hank talked to him. We're going to go out to it. But I think we're skipping the semis to go to this museum."

"What about the rest of the team?" Jay asked.

She shrugged. "I think it's kind of mixed. At dinner it sounded like some of the parents just wanted to head back. School starting …"

"Yea," Jay acknowledged. "Doesn't scream good sportsmanship."

"I know …," Erin agreed. "We're going. Hopefully some other families will show too."

Jay just made a little listening sound.

He'd gotten updates throughout the day. The euphoria of the Cubs getting to the Classics and then not just winning their pool – completely sweeping it - on Friday had faded over the course of Saturday's round-robin as they faced three of the other teams that had advanced. They'd lost their first game and it just seemed to slide from there.

Erin thought it was a lot of things. That maybe the kids were a little over-confident coming into the Classics. That in the Midwest, they were a top-seeded team. That they had a history of winning the Classics and even the Junior World Series. But there were other factors against them. By Saturday, though, between the travel and Friday's play, the kids were getting tired. You could really see it in some of them that first game.

She could particularly see it in Eth. He'd been tremoring badly that day and with it he'd fumbled some of his throws to first and third and Evan on the pitcher's mound. They'd been wild balls. She'd known in the morning he was hurting from the day before. He'd opted not to just put his leg braces on but had brought his crutches and had his knee and leg supports and cushions on him even during warm-up drills.

She'd been concerned that he was going to blame himself for his team's failures – which he still kind of did – but it wasn't just him who was struggling on the field. Everyone had made mistakes and after they'd lost the first game of the day, they'd all just seemed to lose the wind in their sails too. She though Evan had panicked himself a bit and his pitching was all over the place for the rest of the series. There were poor choices when they were taking swings and moving between bases too. Steals that shouldn't have been attempted – especially by some of their players with more significant mobility issues. But it was like the kids were just desperately grasping at straws rather than listening to their coaches or playing the kind of game they'd been playing all season. And by the end of the day they'd crashed and burned badly.

It was quiet the fall they'd taken. They'd won all but three games in their regular season. They were concerned a near shoo-in to be among the four junior teams sent to the wheelchair and accessibility leagues' World Series in New York later in September. There'd been pretty high expectations that the Cubs would be bringing back the pennant to Chicago too. But maybe that over-confidence had cost them some.

Or maybe it was what Hank had been lecturing to Ethan since his devastation at them being knocked out of the tournament early – before them even making it to the semi-finals, let alone the expected championship game they'd thought they'd be playing Sunday night.

"Baseball is only a game and it's a game of inches and a lot of luck," Hank kept reciting at his son. "There might be cause and effect but this isn't crime and punishment. It's dramatically neat and tidy. It's just a game and today was just a result."

Thing was it wasn't exactly the result Ethan had wanted or expected. Maybe it wasn't exactly the result he needed to cap off his summer either. But it was still the way it'd turned out.

"How's he doing at this point?" Jay asked.

Erin shrugged. "He's still disappointed. But he cheered up a bit at dinner. They all did."

"He find anything he could eat there?" Jay asked.

"If you call tacos and a salad bar at a buffet inside a place that looks like Chuck E. Cheese on steroids food, then yeah, I guess he ate," she said.

He made an amused sound. "Take it you didn't have fun?"

Erin just shrugged again even though she knew he wasn't able to see it. She suspected he knew she was shrugging anyway. That he could see it and pick up on it anyway. He knew her well enough.

"It was loud," she provided, "and the food was gross."

Not that she would've expected anything else at a place called the Amazing Pizza Machine. Especially when the venue had clearly been booked by the tournament and discounts were being offered to the teams, players and families who decided to let their children loose in the facility on a Saturday night.

"You end up doing anything?" Jay asked.

"Yea," she conceded, "but he had his friends. He didn't need me tagging along. Showed my face when I was wanted."

"And kicked his ass when you did, I hope," Jay put firmly.

She smiled a little. "I made sure his vest was vibrating all of laser tag," she said. "Little punk." She knew Jay was grinning at that. "He didn't want me to go in the their second round."

"Jerk …," he allowed in quiet support.

"Like he's a teenager or something …," she said. She could feel him smile through the phone again. "Some of the arcade games were fun. We did motorcycling racing."

"Oh, I would've kicked ass at that."

"Right …," Erin agreed sarcastically. "And made sure to give him enough whip-lash in the bumper cars that he'll likely have secondary brain trauma."

"Voight must've loved that," Jay said.

She rubbed at her eyebrow. "They had the game on in the lounge. He mostly just stayed in there." She paused for a moment. "He's been drinking more this weekend then is normal for him."

A silence hung between them. "Maybe he's treating it as a bit of a vacation too," Jay finally offered.

"Yeah … maybe …," she conceded. "It's just that … before … he'd usually just have a drink with dinner or after work."

"Cops drink, Erin," Jay said. "We all drink."

"Yeah, you're right," she nodded.

The silence hung again. "You aren't implying it's a concerning amount? That he's drunk or hungover?"

"No," she allowed. "Nothing like that. I'm just … not used to seeing him drink … I don't know. I guess at these kinds of places. Or as visibly to Ethan."

"Voight drinks," Jay offered again in what she was sure was supposed to be comforting. "See him with his rye and whiskey and wine all the time, Erin."

"I know …," she sighed.

And again the silence. Because they both knew what she was worried about. That maybe everything had pushed Hank over some other edge she didn't want to think about or deal with. Or imagine what that would mean for Ethan or Hank's career or ability to care for her brother.

But she was likely over-reacting. Hank having a few drinks wasn't exactly unheard of. It was just he usually had a drink with a meal – if the meal warranted it. She wasn't sure she would say the Spaghetti Factory or the Amazing Pizza Machine buffet fit that definition. He generally had a small drink in the evening but growing up that had never been in front of them. It was always after lights out. Even now, it was something that would happen in the later hours of the evening and something that he'd invite you to join him, if you were there and never more than about a finger. Other than that it was a Manhattan compressing occasionally after work or boxed wine or shitty vending machine beer at the Social Club. And holidays – Christmas, New Years, Easter, Thanksgiving, Independence Day. But that was always with dinner and-or company too.

This just seemed different. But it likely wasn't. She was likely just reading too much into it. Maybe he needed a drink to get through the weekend as much as she felt like she did.

If Hank was going to fall over the line into alcohol dependence, it likely would've been long ago. Not now. Or maybe now made perfect sense. Sometimes you needed something to forget. To not feel. To make you more able to live with yourself – and all you'd seen and experienced and done.

"We can keep an eye on it," Jay finally offered at her extended silence.

She allowed a thin smile at his effort and rubbed at her eyebrow. "What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked, because she didn't want to think anymore about Hank.

She didn't want to worry about him. She just wanted to write this off as an isolated incident. Because it really likely was. He was putting in time, watching the game, talking to some other parents and waiting for the kids to be done in the arcade area. Most of the other adults were having a couple drinks. He was allowed to too. She should be happy that he was at least communicating with some of the other parents on the team – sort of. It was more he was grunting and nodding at them while he stared at the game from what she'd seen. But at least he was sitting in the same area as them. That was a lot of progress.

"Meeting Will," he allowed. "Getting some smoked trout."

"Hope you aren't using that euphemism again," she teased with some underlying seriousness.

"Don't know about Will but I was just going over to Calumet's," he said, not missing a beat. "Going to take Bear. Go for a run in the park or along the beach after."

"Mmm …," Erin allowed with a little smile. "Thanks for watching him this weekend."

She could feel him shrug just as surely as she knew he could feel hers. "Family," was all he replied, though. She wasn't sure she bought that the dog was family – or at least his family. But since all of this, Jay had pressed the family line more than before. Almost at Voight levels actually. It'd become part of his idiom. That you were there for family. That you took care of family. That you did for family.

It was just he seemed a whole lot surer who his family was than she did.

He made it less pick-and-choose than she wanted to be.

She wanted Ethan. She didn't want Hank. That's what she was telling herself. Working at convincing herself. That she'd take Bear as collateral, because she kind of liked that mutt too, no matter how big and smelly he'd gotten. He was also pretty cute and cuddly.

But Jay kept insisting that they were a packaged deal. No matter how they felt about it they didn't get to cherry pick. That it didn't mean they had to like what happened or that they had to trust Hank or that they even had to like him or spend a lot of time talking to him outside of work – but they didn't get to completely cut him out of their lives. Family didn't do that. Not real family. And if that's what she was going to do – she didn't get to exercise Hank and expect Ethan to still be a part of the deal. Not in the same way. Not with the kind of relationship she wanted with him. So she had to decide what she wanted most. Cutting ties with Hank or holding on to her relationship with a little boy who'd been a part of her life since the day he was born? That she'd played a significant part in raising and fell in love with over and over again the more he grew up and became his own person?

And when he put it that way, it made the decision seem clear. Even if it wasn't fucking easy.

But she'd be lying if she ever said anything about her relationship with Hank had been easy. If becoming part of the family had been easy. And maybe it wasn't supposed to be easy to get out of something like that after you were in.

Blood in and blood out.

"Want me to pick up some fish for dinner on Monday?" he asked.

She scrunched up her nose. She really wasn't as into the smoked seafood as Jay was. She didn't mind it but she didn't feel the need to make a monthly trip to Calumet's like he did. Though, she got that was more about him and Will spending time together than the fish. Maybe. Sometimes she thought it was definitely more about the fish. It really depended how much Will got on Jay's nerves on any particular visit. His brother had been grating at him a lot lately. So this trip might be more about the fish than catching up with his brother.

"No thanks," she said.

"Really?" he put back to her again. "It'd be quick and easy. Could grab some slaw and roast up some potatoes or steam some collards or something."

"That's a lot of food for the two of us," Erin argued, trying to provide an additional excuse to not have to eat cold, dry fish.

"Ah, four?" Jay questioned with some confusion, and then added, "I figured that Voight and Eth would be coming up to get the dog."

She rubbed at her eyebrow. She so wasn't at the point that she was ready for Sunday family dinners again yet. Even if this was a holiday Monday. "You can bring Bear down when we get there," she said. "Easier."

Jay sighed at her. "Erin—"

"Eth will be tired after the weekend and the drive," she said. "And we'll likely be home way before dinner. Sure Hank will have us rolling out of her by about seven. We should be home in the early afternoon."

Jay made a quiet sound and the silence hung again. She could tell he was thinking about arguing with her but finally only argued with, "I'm still going to pick up some for them. Eth likes it and it will be an easy meal after the drive. Keep it easy on the night before back-to-school."

She sighed and stared at the floor. She struggled with the helping Ethan – making things easier for Ethan – meant doing the same for Hank. She wanted that to be easier. But it wasn't.

"Did you look for what we were talking about last night?" she asked just to change the subject.

"Yea …," he acknowledged. "I didn't see it. But it's not like your bookshelf is alphabetized."

She rolled her eyes but then stared at the ceiling. It had watermarks on it. "I'm actually thinking I loaned it to Justin and he never gave it back," she muttered.

"Well, I'm not going to break into Voight's house to see if it's in any of his boxes," Jay said.

"Yeah, me neither," she muttered and then added, "It'd actually be funny if it's still on the bookshelf in the guys' room."

"You know when would be a perfect time to check that out without breaking in?"

"I have a key," she countered.

"Without having to use your key," Jay double-countered. "On Monday at dinner. When you call me when you guys are getting into the city and I bring the dog and smoked fish over to the house."

Erin sighed in exasperation at him.

"Babe, we're both going to have to start setting foot in there again soon. School starts on Tuesday. Keep telling yourself, it's about Eth."

"Yea …," she whispered and stared at the floor, curling her toes. "I miss you."

There was a silence. Like he was still surprised when she admitted things like that. Like he really needed to be reminded, which likely meant that she didn't tell him those things nearly enough. Just how much he meant to her. Then. Now. Always.

"I miss you too," he said. "I mean, even though the six pillows on your side of the bed actually take up more space than most human beings, it still just really isn't working for me. And you and Bear? Just don't compare." She smiled a little bit at that. "And, by the way, I kind of love you. Bear I just kind of like. Most of the time. I'm not a huge fan of picking up his shit."

She smiled softly. "I love you too."

"So Monday. Dry run?" he asked gently.

She sighed a little. "Yeah … OK …," she allowed with some hesitation. "I should go …," she finally added after again they had a silence – it wasn't awkward but it wasn't as comfortable as most. "Eth's still in my room. The movie's likely over."

"Yea …," Jay acknowledged. "So have fun at the museum. Take another seductive selfie for me."

"With the Blackbird?" she teased, raising her eyebrow.

"Absolutely," he agreed. "Nose art."

She let the corners of her mouth pull up a bit. "You going to send me a seductive photo of you troutin' out?"

"Oh, yeah, baby," he intoned in a voice that really wasn't that seductive at all – no matter what his troutin' out euphemism had once meant before she'd put a complete kibosh on that.

But she still let it make her smile. Because he was a goof. And because when she got home she'd need and want a bit more than troutin' out. She actually really just needed a hug. One that went on for hours and included making love and being held while she tried to find something that resembled sleep. But she thought he knew all that. That she didn't need to say it.

"Night, babe …," he said sounding so much more like him that it hurt.

"Night, Jay …," she allowed quietly.

But she didn't hang up. She let him. Because she wasn't ready to cut off the connection on her own yet. It was the only thing that was holding her in place these days. Keeping her from flying away. At Mach-3 maybe. Or maybe that wasn't even fast enough.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Chapter 12 and 13 (Elephants and Great Escape) were added in the same 24-hour period so there wasn't a bump. The readership numbers reflect that so please check to make sure you didn't miss one or both of them. Chapter 11 (Just Friends) was also added over the weekend.**

 **Your comments, feedback and reviews are always much appreciated.**


	15. Bookends

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank gazed out the back breezeway at his boy and his boy's damn mutt. Two of them were near fucking frolicking in the back plot. More that the mutt had Magoo near pinned to the ground, dancing around him and lapping at his face. Getting some real fucking giggles out of his kid as he tried pretty un-fucking-successfully to get the damn dog to calm down and to give him some space. Didn't think E really wanted that space that much. Thought he was pretty happy to get that greeting from the dog. Enough of a greeting that Hank had had to get Eth to drag Bear outback before the two of them knocked over the entire house with their excitement at seeing the others' face again. Actually was pretty hard to tell which one was happier to see the other. Likely about equal, he figured.

E had been anxious all weekend about the dog being left at home. Swear the kid had FaceTimed with the mutt more in a four-day period than E had the entire year with Henry. Halstead likely felt like a fucking tool holding the phone up to the dog for the kid to talk at and check on. But the guy had done it. Said a lot about the guy actually. Telling. Though, Hank knew he would've rolled his eyes and busted his kid's balls a bit about it – but he would've done the same. Kids. What you did for them.

At least with Magoo – right now – it was just holding a smartphone up to a damn dog. Not that it was just that that he had to do for Magoo. Had to do a whole lot for that kid. Especially now. Whole new layer to the fucking now. More than one. Just all fucked up again. A new fucking level of fucked up. But at least he wasn't having to do some of the things he'd had to do for his other two kids. Things he'd had to do for Erin. For Justin. Things he'd recently done.

But with the way things were going, had to wonder what he was going to have to do for Ethan in the future. Scared about what path his kid might start walking down soon, if he didn't right him. Didn't get him on another path. Had to keep his eyes on him. Couldn't let them drift like he had with his other kids. Couldn't loosen his grip. Not yet. Maybe you couldn't really ever. Because even when you had your kids telling you that they weren't little kids anymore, that they could manage their own business, that they could take care of their own family – Hank had still seen what could happen. Had felt it. Had had his family feel it. His grandson.

It was going to be different with Magoo. Had to be. He had to get this right on his third try. Wasn't optional. Just wasn't.

Watching him now, didn't want to think about what his son's anxiety level would look like if there was ever a situation where they had to put the mutt in a kennel for a few days. Even more fucking telling about where his kid was in that head of his. His mental and emotional state.

Eth even knowing his dog was with Halstead - and in good hands, getting a whole lot of runs and pets, food bowl filled and shit picked up after him – hadn't seemed to calm the kid much.

E just seemed real anxious about being too far away from any of them anymore. Fucking anxious about him going into work. Fucking anxious that he wasn't seeing his sister as much as he'd like. That her and Halstead weren't coming over. That he'd only seen Halstead a handful of times at all since J died. The kid was just worrying. Had wrapped up in his head that the last time he saw any of them might really be the last time he saw any of them.

And Voight understood what was going on. Could relate. Knew where it was coming from and why. Hell, he was feeling it too. Worried about losing his little boy to all of this. Now. Worried every time his girl was strapping on her vest and heading out – even though that was part of the job and what she was trained for, what she wanted. Worried about leaving his boy alone with where his head was at anymore. All of it just made him want to cling to his kid in a fucking completely out of character way. If E would fucking let him, he'd be giving him some pretty tight bear hugs every night and every morning before they had to part ways. Before he had to go in and do the job. Because it was what was giving him some stability. It was what would let him continue to take care of his boy – as best he could. So he had to do it. He needed to do it. He needed it.

All of it, though, just didn't make things too easy.

The fucking separation anxiety was about mutual between E and Bear as far as he could tell anyway. The damn puppy had some clear abandonment issues of his own. From the get he'd seemed to know that Magoo was his boy. His master. Real attached to him. Been seeing it at a whole different level lately. The dog clearly knew something was up. Intuitive that way. Could sense things were off in the house. Could read the emotions – or tension or sadness—they were radiating. Been sticking real close to Magoo every chance he got.

Bear very near literally lost his shit whenever Magoo got home. Sometimes he very literally took a piss he'd get so worked up when E came in the door. Getting better about it now but while they were getting him housebroken, been a near consistent occurrence. Still had some accidents when he got real excited to see his boy.

Didn't matter if they'd been apart a couple hours or a couple days – that dog was all over him. Hank would give the dog that. Might not be the brightest mutt. Not the most well behaved. A little slow on the pick-up when it came to getting him trained. But the dog was loyal. He was a good friend to his boy. And, Voight supposed that was a good thing. Magoo needed that. Deserved it. Dogs were good for that. Unconditional love. Some companionship.

Been good that weekend to see E in some situations with actual human companionship. Needed that too. Deserved it.

His son had looked a bit sullen for a lot of the tournament – even before they managed to get knocked out. Wasn't exactly the end to the summer that Eth had wanted or needed. Seemed like he was getting knocked out a lot anymore. Supposed that was just life. But didn't make it any easier to watch it happen over and over again to his boy.

Had thought that his son might not take much out of the tournament. Had kind of twisted his arm and forced him into going. Had been talking about not wanting to. But thought most of that was just talk. The depression and sadness and self-punishment that was setting in. The social avoidance the kid was practicing. So had given him the whole lecture about sportsmanship and about teamwork and about family. His team was family. They needed him there. Expected him to be there. He'd be letting down a lot more people than himself if he hadn't gone. Wouldn't just be himself that he was punishing.

So they'd gone. Was glad that Erin had come. A little surprised she had. Didn't get the sense she would. Didn't think she was ready to try that yet. But Hank knew that her attendance didn't have a whole lot to do with him. Maybe it didn't even have much to do with family yet either. It'd been about Ethan. He'd take that, though. E was the most important thing these days. Getting him through this. All of it. Seemed like about the only thing that mattered anymore. Maybe it was the only way he could redeem himself in any of this. If there realistically could be any kind of redemption. He wasn't so sure about that anymore. After you're in the inferno, it's pretty much for life eternal. Apparently he was just starting his tendency a little early. Didn't mean his son needed to join him in that, though.

Already knew that Erin felt she was. Had used the phrase. Dante's Inferno. Wondered if she remembered having to read that back in high school at St. Ignatius. He remembered her reading it. Remembered having discussions about it. Was one reading assignment that she actually seemed to participate in. Been kind of fascinated by it. Or maybe just shocked and surprised at that point it was on Ignatius' curriculum. More likely, though, it was her turbulent background. Likely measuring for herself even then against what Ring of Hell she was living in.

Point of her joining the family was to get her out of that inferno. But maybe he'd never done much of a good job at that. Maybe he'd just drawn her deeper into it. Made her fall farther inside rather than guiding her out. Especially since she'd informed him that lately she felt like she was living in each and every fucking ring of fire. Didn't even want to put a name to it. Just had claimed them all.

And maybe that was fair. But it wasn't. Not for her. Not for his kids.

At least she'd come that weekend, though. Gotten her and Magoo both out of the personal hells that their own heads and homes had become. That had to count for something. Needed to make it count. Been something they all needed, he thought.

Maybe Olive was onto something. Maybe Chicago was just too fucking full of too many memories. That'd always been more reason for him to stay. To dig his heels in. But maybe he'd just dug himself fucking deeper more than anything. And his children. His family. Because these days he wasn't sure being in the city – in the house – was good for any of them. Not with the looks in his girl's and his boy's eyes.

Wouldn't say it'd actually been much of a family weekend. But at least they'd been together.

Erin hadn't had too much to do with him. But hadn't completely shunned him either. Hadn't completely avoided him, like she'd been doing at work. And that had to count for something too. He hoped. Even if any of this was more about Magoo than him. Than her giving him some chance to try to fix their relationship.

Wouldn't say they exactly talked. But she had managed to form sentences. Wasn't exactly deep conversation but they'd exchanged words. Mostly about the game and about E. But, again, it was something.

He was clinging onto all kinds of somethings anymore. Kind of pathetic. But sometimes you had to fucking reach for whatever lifeline was there.

At least the weekend away meant Magoo had some other kids around to bring out some smiles in him. Give him some activities and distractions. A chance to just be a kid his age. Concentrating on things a kid his age should have to concentrate on … arcade games, comic shops, candy stores, all-you-can eat spaghetti, ball. Those things made sense for a thirteen-year-old kid to have on his plate. To need to be thinking about. Didn't mind them occupying his boy's mind. Wished it was the kind of bullshit that occupied his mind more often.

Wasn't the way his boy's life seemed to be, though. Not at all.

Least he had Eva and Evan. They were good for him. Nice kids. Real nice kids. From good parents. Solid homes. Families going through their own challenges but people with their heads on straight. Just trying to do the best they could with the hands they'd been dealt too.

That was important. E seeing that – being around other people like that –it was real fucking important.

E had some other little buddies on the team but it was those two that he'd really seemed to connect with. And then some.

Was going to have to make sure he kept culturing that, though. Make sure that he was still a part of those kids' lives now that ball season was over. Now that E didn't seem to have much of an interest in doing much of anything. Not at RIC. Not at school. Not even at home.

It was like they were back to when he'd first got his diagnosis again and the kid didn't want to look at anyone in the face. Just didn't want to participate in life.

Couldn't go back to that either, though. Couldn't have his son with that kind of free time on his hands. Not that kind of time to bury into himself more. To get lost in his thoughts.

Voight was real happy they were getting back to school. Get his son back into a more normal routine. Structure. Really hoped that some of that would help. That somehow it'd make some of this easier.

Sure didn't seem like that was going to be the case, though. E had spent the better part of the drive home stressing about getting back to class. Was like he was almost trying to pick a fight in the fucking car. Thankfully Erin had been there to manage some of the conversation. To try to get him to spool down and to be realistic. So he didn't just need to be the bad guy telling his son the way things were – no exceptions.

But even with his sister doing reality checks too, didn't stop Eth from expressing repeatedly how he was in the retard class, and how he was still behind and stupider than the whole Eighth Grade, how he was just going to fail, and how he had no friends and how much more of a mark he was going to be now that everyone knew about J.

So much of the talk rubbed Hank the wrong way. Really fucking hated when his son used the fucking "retard" word. No kid deserved that label and his son sure as fuck wasn't a retard. Ethan was so fucking bright. It wasn't his smarts that were a problem. It was how he processed information. It was his comprehension. But his boy had shown repeatedly he could learn. He just needed more time. And after he found something he was good at – and something he liked – Magoo knew how to apply himself. He knew how to work his ass off. And there were lots of things he was good at and a whole lot more his kid was fucking obsessive about.

Thing was he just got fucking frustrated with the process sometimes. But E wasn't lazy and he was a strong, stubborn little bugger.

So any of this talk about failing and retard just pissed him off and then some. And being behind? That wasn't his fucking fault. They'd don't everything they could to keep him caught up and to catch him up. Reality was E was always going to be a little behind. Voight didn't think that was a fucking problem as long as they did the best they could to keep up with everyone else. But life – education – it wasn't a fucking race. He'd get there when he got there. And he'd fucking get there.

As for the whole friends scenario. Voight really didn't know what the fuck to say to him about that. Friends at Ignatius had always been a bit of a problem for Erin and J too. It just fucking was what it was. Both of them got mixed up with little cliques that maybe they shouldn't of. They'd run around with kids who weren't the right kind of people for them and their family. They'd fallen out with some groups and been shunned by some of the other little fuckers.

Why should it be any different with Magoo?

Hank supposed, though, he wanted so fucking desperately for it to be different for Magoo. He wanted this kid to just have a fucking normal, happy, stable childhood. To navigate his teens OK and launch into adulthood as a fucking functional human being. And sometimes that was just another fucking reality that felt so far outside of the family's grasp. Out of Magoo's grasp – and Hank hurt right along with him that that was the way it was. Because it was just another thing on the long fucking list of things Ethan didn't deserve.

Apparently Max didn't count as a friend anymore. Kid would be over in the high school that year. Still hard to believe that kid was a year older than Magoo. But maybe them not spending time together on school grounds wasn't such a bad thing. Didn't think Max did much to help Ethan's friend status with other kids. Awful thing to think about anyone's child but was the sad reality. Max was definitely his own kind of mark that attracted unwanted attention. Or at least sent other kids in the opposite direction from him.

But Hank would likely still try to nurture that friendship too – if E and Max were open to that. Let the kid come over some. Maybe encourage E to take the kid up on any invite he got that way. But maybe with being a fresh man, Max might decide he was suddenly too cool for Magoo. Who fucking knew. Teenagers were so fucking weird that way. Be nice, though, for E to at least have someone at Ignatius he could call a friend. Both be back in the same building next fall too. So there was that.

Though, E kept saying he wished he was in public school. Hank sure as fuck didn't. And E's lament that he just wanted to go to public high school also wasn't fucking going to happen. Not with everything that was going on with his son anymore.

He was real glad he had him in the private system. Real glad he had him somewhere where he at least had a bit of leverage to make sure he was getting some of the support and considerations he needed.

Still wasn't exactly smooth sailing. Still a bit of a fight. But at least he knew that his son wasn't getting forgotten in some corner and shuffled aside due to funding issues and class sizes and utter lack of resources. Still didn't mean E was getting everything he needed but was likely a lot closer to getting what E needed than if he had tossed his brain damaged, chronically ill, disfigured, socially delayed, learning challenged kid to the sharks in public school.

Still didn't mean that E wasn't going on about how he could see Eva if he was in public school. Which was bullshit. They wouldn't be at the same school anyway. But he couldn't seem to wrap his head around that. Or just didn't want to. Just kept saying it.

About the only activity that Eth had expressed any interest in so far was getting on the Skyhawks. The kids' wheelchair basketball team through the Rehab Institute. Seemed like his only real motivation with that was that it was what Eva did as her fall and winter activity. Magoo had never shown much interest in basketball before. At all. Wasn't even sure if the kid could tell you that the city's team was the Bulls or who Michael Jordan was. Though, had sure seemed to know what Jordans were when it came to wanting shoes off the physical therapist's list. That hadn't fucking happened. Was feeling a lot of guilt when it came to his kid anymore. Been a bit of a pushover in some areas. Taken some lip and attitude that normally wouldn't. Let some things slide that he previously would've cracked down on. But that was something was going to have to shift and change too as they tried to get back to whatever the fuck "normal" was now. So to start, there was no fucking way he was paying for the $130 shoes E had picked out.

Thought the whole thing was kind of stupid. Knew what the physical therapist was saying about getting him some extra stability and support in his feet and with his gait. But as excited as Eth seemed to be about getting some colorful sneakers, seemed to Voight that the shoes would just be drawing more attention to him in the hallways. Though, supposed the crutches did that enough already.

E seemed to think he was going to be wearing his leg brace every fucking day instead. Part of the reason he wanted to pick fucking high-tops off the list. Seemed to think that would hide the brace more – because apparently he thought people had fucking X-ray vision and could see through his pant leg. Voight gave that plan all of a week, though. Knew his son couldn't stand having the brace on for extended periods of time. That he found it hot. And on the days he was fatigued – the crutches just helped a whole fucking lot more with supporting himself than the weird gaited support the brace gave him.

Figured the Jordans were part of this basketball kick, though. But if he really wanted them for that – then let him buy them himself. Had enough savings for it. Thought he'd likely prefer his kid to spend the money on shoes than a fucking videogame system.

Thought he'd likely prefer too if Eth decided he wanted to get in with the Blackhawks than the basketball stuff. Had even thought about seeing if maybe he could get Evan's mom to nudge her boy in that direction rather than this fucking rowing business. Cut some sort of deal about the carpool to practices.

Supposed, though, in the end he really didn't fucking care what his son did. Just knew E needed to be doing something that fall. Needed something to tide him over until the Robotics Team started up again in the winter. Needed some place for him to be after school. Needed something for him to do. Needed him to be around kids his own age. Needed him to have something else to think about than all this crap he was thinking about. Focus and distraction. Something he could get passionate about and excited about.

Needed that. They all did. Not just for him either.

Even had thrown on the fucking chess club at Ignatius as an option for him. Swim team at either the school or RIC. The Judo program at RIC. The computer club. The film club. Even thrown out RIC's art program and yoga program and fucking horseback riding program. Even though none of that was really Magoo. But Hank had just about been tossing out the entire fucking list at both places trying to get him to express an interest in something. Anything. But beyond the couple passing mentions about Eva playing basketball – there'd been a whole lot of nothing. Was making him think that this might be more than just getting him through to Robotics. Wasn't even sure E would be trying out for that come January either.

But if he couldn't get his son to agree to sign up to something by the end of the week, he'd likely end up just signing him up for a whole lot of tutoring and scheduling his physical therapy sessions and shrink appointments for that late afternoon period. Something to fill the gap so he wasn't home alone for hours. Or avoiding going home and running the streets finding trouble he didn't need to be finding with where his head was at these days.

He sighed and moved back into the kitchen from gazing at his kid and the mutt.

Halstead was busy chopping away at some potatoes. Already had some diced onions, chopped garlic and olive oil starting to sizzle in a skillet. Cooking down. Looked like he had some spinach he was planning to toss in there too. Smelled good.

Guy was a decent enough cook from the bit he'd seen of him in the kitchen. The food he'd eaten that the kid had done up. Suspected that he might've spent a lot of time on kitchen duty as a kid. But that wasn't a bad thing. Good skills to have. Man doesn't just bring home the money to buy the groceries. Should know how to put an actual meal on the table too.

"Sure you don't need a hand," he put to the kid again.

Needed to stop thinking of him like that. Knew he wasn't a kid. A man. The man who had his daughter's heart and hand. But force of habit. Tended to see the young guys you had under you as just kids. Jay, though, wasn't the youngest of the group at all. Had more than proved over the years that he wasn't a kid either. He was a man. That was good too.

"I'm good," Halstead provided flatly.

Been a whole lot of that lately too. Not that Jay was ever exactly cheery and open with him. Fine enough. But anymore, he was getting the same monotone that Erin was giving him whenever he spoke to him. And had definitely been keeping the talk to a minimum and only on the professional end of the spectrum.

Was a little surprised that this was happening. Had figured that Erin would just want to be dropped off at her place. Wasn't even sure they'd catch a glimpse of Halstead. Though that the dog would pretty much just get brought down and they'd be on their way.

Had been almost back into the city when Erin had said she was calling Jay to tell him their ETA. That he would bring Bear by the house and had dinner.

Hank really hadn't been prepared for that. But maybe it was a step in the right direction too. That his daughter was going to come into the house. That she'd made the decision on her own not on his prodding. That Halstead would be there too when the guy hadn't actually been over since H's birthday weekend. Been a long time considering it'd been starting to feel like he had Erin and Halstead as boarders with the frequency they'd been around most of the year.

"Really appreciate this," Hank said, gesturing at the food.

Kid just shrugged. "Over at Calumet's anyway. Know Eth likes the fish."

There it was again. About E. Keeping it as disassociated from being anything about him as possible. But that was fine too. Hank was starting to accept that was likely the way it was going to be for a real long time. Maybe always.

Hank just gazed at him, though. More he wanted to say to him. Ask him. Maybe even fucking thank him. In some way that didn't involve him using those words. But he didn't.

Knew where Halstead stood on all this. That he was between a rock and a hard place. Also knew that him and J – weren't so unlike. Knew they both had their convictions. Had the things they fought for. Their rights and wrongs and the ways they righted those wrongs. Liked the guy as a cop. The guy was going to be real good police. Still believed that. Still had a bright future with CPD. But he liked the guy as a man too. Liked him for his daughter. Liked that just like Halstead had promised him a year ago, that he'd have her back – always, 24/7.

And he did.

And that meant that they weren't going to be chatty. That he couldn't ask how he was doing with everything. Couldn't ask him how Erin was coping at home. How she was sleeping and eating. How much she was drinking. What banana peels were tempting here. Couldn't ask about that townhouse the offer was in on. Couldn't tell him that it really wasn't necessary for them to be moving into Little Italy. Couldn't tell him that all the lines he knew the guy would likely feed him about why they'd focused in on that area were bullshit – near his brother's place, near District, near Med, near Iggy's, knowing the neighborhood. That he knew it was about Magoo. Couldn't ask what the place looked like. How many floors, how many square feet, how many bedrooms, what street, electric or gas, what the parking situation was like, how much of a fixer-upper it was. Couldn't talk to him about talking to Erin about taking the money to help with the down payment. Couldn't tell him that if they weren't going to take the money – if there was anything else they'd let him help with with their first house or the move, to let him know and that he'd do what he could to help. Couldn't thank him for still being willing to help out with Eth. For being there for his girl.

Couldn't tell him how glad he was that his daughter had someone who was trying to give her – get her – all the things she deserved. Because he'd failed so badly in that area. But Halstead – knew he could do better. Could do as a husband, a partner, a friend all the things he hadn't been able to do as a father. Could right his failings. Stuck cleaning up his mess.

Apparently at work and at home.

But those weren't any conversations they'd be having. Because neither of them were that chatty. But also because he knew that Erin didn't much want them talking and that anything that came out of Halstead's mouth would likely be talking points that Erin had approved. That he'd only be told – was only allowed to hear – things that Erin wanted to him. Things that his daughter had decided he deserved to hear. And that wasn't anything about their first house or them moving in together. Or how they were doing or feeling. He just got to hear the logistics of how they were willing to try to help manage Magoo's schedule. Which again, wasn't about him – it was very specifically about Ethan.

It was hard because like he kept telling Erin – she could talk to him about anything. He kept saying it to Ethan too. Over and over and over again. He'd be saying it until his last breath now. Because if Justin had just come to him – talked to him – maybe all of this would be different. But his son hadn't felt like he could talk about anything and everything. They'd had that rift. And Hank saw – knew, fucking felt – what that had done. What it'd done to his family.

So over and over he'd say it to his remaining two. Even if they didn't want to believe him or didn't want to listen to him or didn't want to talk to him. He'd say it until he was blue in the face. Because maybe when the going got tough – if it could get any tougher than it was already – they'd remember and they'd come to him, and he couldn't be burying another kid. Or watching another child go to jail. Or watching another child grow up without a parent.

He gazed down the hallway to the stairs. Erin had been up there a long time now. Had gone up looking for the trimmers. Been her who'd managed convince E to shave off the mess he had on his head ahead of first bells tomorrow.

Hank had pretty much decided to let it slide. Let the kid get sent home with a slip from the school after first day saying that it didn't meet dress code and they needed to have it resolved by the end of the week. Was fine with that. Let the school be the bad guy in that particular scenario, even though he wasn't much of a fan of what E had done to his hair. More argument not to leave him in the house alone. Seen the kind of shit he could get into – even of the relatively innocent variety.

The Mohawk thing had only been made worse over the weekend. Some of the kids had hair chalk. The girls. Had gone around doing up everyone's hair. And there was another argument for not taking his eyes off his son – because, Hank didn't know where he was looking at that moment. But he did know that the next time he'd looked over at his son, Magoo's "Mohawk" was blue and Eva was working at putting red streaks down the side of his head too. All he could do was smack at the scene at that point. Too late to put a stop to it.

Supposed it'd been kind of cute for the weekend to get some pictures of the kid and the team. Had made E feel more like part of the time. All in good fun for the kids. Thing was that the fucking chalk didn't come out with shampoo exactly as advertised. At least not on his fucking bleach-blonde kiddo. Had started to fade but was looking more pink and turquoise than back to his blond locks at this point. Basically it looked fucking ridiculous.

Erin clearly felt the same and had less qualms about expressing that to Ethan than he did at that particular moment. Suspected maybe deep down E acknowledged the reality that it looked like complete shit at this point – and that the school was going to bust his balls about it in the morning. Because he'd agreed to let his sister shave off the mess. Or at least try too. Hoped that the fucking chalk hadn't gotten right to the roots or tinted his pale scalp too. Just what they needed.

Taking her a long time to find the trimmers and get at it, though. E and the dog might be back inside before she did reappear at this rate. And Hank wanted the barber shop routine to happen outside – not in his fucking kitchen.

"Think she's having trouble finding those things," he muttered at Halstead and made his way up the hall. Had seen Halstead give him a glance but didn't get a response. Hadn't really expected one.

Found Erin standing in the boys' room, though, not the bathroom when he got to the top of the stairs. Staring at the bookshelf, nudging aside some of E's knickknacks to gaze around them. Looked pretty lost in thought and kind of confused.

"Trimmers are in the can," he rasped at her, even though it was pretty apparent that she wasn't likely looking for them.

She startled a bit at his voice – proving even more that she'd been deep into whatever thought process she was having in that moment. She settled quick, though, and glanced over her shoulder before moving her eyes right back to where they'd been.

"Was just looking for something I'd given Justin," she muttered.

Hank stared at her a bit at that. Wasn't a lot that specifically belonged to J in that room anymore. Some things he'd given to Magoo or that Magoo had inherited. But J had pretty much been moved out of the room. Though, he didn't doubt that Erin still had seared in her mind too the way the room had looked when J had it set up as his own room growing up. The way it'd later looked when the boys had been bunked down together. The spaces of who's was who's and what was what. She was standing in front of a shelf that had been claimed by Justin. One of the higher ones. Out of Ethan's reach back then.

Not so much anymore – as was evident by all the dinosaur figurines he had lined up on the thing, chasing after fucking Hot Wheels. Funny kid. Whole little diorama going on there. In there better days, he would've told you the story behind the scene. There'd be one. Some imagined up thing. Would rotate. Sometimes his baseball men or army men or little Lego Star Wars ship things would join the parade. Be a whole other story of what the hell was happening. But, again, not so much anymore. E hadn't been fiddling with his toys much. Just like he hadn't been taking much interest in much of anything but the ceiling in that room.

"The Bond collection?" Hank put to her, though. She gave him a questioning glance. Her eyebrow skewed up at him. "E was asking after it the other day. Will have to ask Olive about borrowing them the next time I get her on the horn."

Justin and fucking James Bond. Had to admit, his son was a looker. Could see some 007 in him in that department. His fault that his son had gotten into the old spy flicks. Watched the damn things with the kid when he was growing up. Hank was always partially to the older ones. The ones he'd had growing up. Sean Connery as Bond. Thought J was partially to those particular flicks in the series too. But Erin had gotten him a box set of the latest Daniel Craig Bond flicks back at Christmas. J had seemed pretty appreciative of the gift and excited to re-watch them at the time. See one he'd apparently missed and never caught up on in the whole fucking drunk driving and Statesville fiasco. So Hank really doubted they'd been something that were left at the house, no matter how the holidays had ended.

E had already asked about them. Assumed that he'd already checked the movie cabinet downstairs and determined they weren't there. Though, there were other ones there. Ones they'd started watching together a bit when E did decide to come downstairs, which wasn't much yet. But that was going to be another thing that was going to have to change with back to school in the morning.

Hadn't really introduced E to Bond before. Still a little little before them losing Camille. Not exactly kid viewing. Though, he was sure E had seen bits and pieces of some of them over the years. Clearly knew now – remembered – that his brother was a fan. That he was too. That it was a fun flick to waste a couple hours of your life on, if you wanted to waste hours of your life that way.

So they were sharing it now. Maybe it would've been better it was something that he could've shared with his brother. That it could've been J who really introduced the films to him. Maybe take him to the next one whenever the next one came out. Just let them have something together. To share.

But that was also likely living off in some fantasy land given how E and J ever seemed to get along. Or more how they couldn't seem to get along. How that relationship just had never been what he'd hoped it would be – or could be – between brothers.

So he was just going to have to look at it as something he could share with E now and they could share the memory that J had liked them too. They could think of him – in a happy and positive way – when they sat down to watch one.

And that was another thing he was going to cling onto as something. Something in all this bullshit. Something to try to make any of it right or normal. Or to make any kind of fucking sense.

"Ah … no …," Erin had muttered again, still gazing at the shelf. "I thought I lent him Harry Potter. A really long time ago. I was wondering if maybe it'd ended up with Ethan."

Voight ran his tongue along his teeth, poking it in his cheek at that kind of odd request. Sudden thing to go searching for in the fallout of all of this. But supposed that all of them were clinging at strange bits and pieces to try to find some sort of solace. Pretty futile when you got down to it.

"They're in the master," Voight put to her and moved from the doorway, making a gesture for her to follow when she gave him an even more questioning glance.

Was already in the bedroom before she did decide to follow. But she did follow. Another step, he supposed.

She just took her turn to stand in the doorway, though. Those arms crossed so tight. His stubborn little girl. Wasn't making this easy for him. But this wasn't supposed to be easy.

"You can come in," he told her as he headed for the bookshelf, even though he knew she wouldn't budge. Not a chance in hell that she would. Even though they were already in hell – so she might as well take the fucking chance.

She just crossed her arms a little tighter, though. "Why are they in here?" she did manage to ask. Tone to it.

But most things she said to him these days included a tone. For now he wasn't getting his pants in much of a knot about the tone she used with him. Would just take her talking to him. Didn't care that much about the level of respect she was showing in how she talked to him. Knew she didn't respect him much these days. Knew he'd have to earn her respect back. And also knew that parents tended to be a whole lot more forgiving of their children than vice versa. Sometimes it seemed like didn't matter how old they got, your kids never quite saw you as human. Didn't quite get that you were fallible too.

Hank gave her a little glance as he got to the shelf, before moving his attention back to it. Back to the four photos lining it – blocking easy access to the books. Maybe he knew where Magoo got that fucking clutter as décor sense from. Camille. But he'd still take the photos. Those reminders staring at him.

Wedding photo. How young and happy they looked. So fucking young. Camille so fucking radiant as a bride in it.

Each of his boys as babies. All done up for a photo studio shoot at the fucking Sears. Best their limited funds could buy at the time, but still gave them real cute photos of their kids. Would give him and Camille that – they'd made pretty beautiful babies. Somehow. Hard to look at the kids as babies and see all that sparkle in their eyes, know all the hopes and dreams you had wrapped up in those hopes and dreams those little boys hadn't even formed yet. And then knowing the outcome. Knowing what lay ahead of them. Made you wonder why you'd ever do that to another person. Why they'd wanted babies so badly in the first place. Maybe all those miscarriages had been trying to tell them something and they should've listened. Maybe fate was just catching up with them as some sort of cruel joke. Got the babies but didn't get to keep them.

And then there was the family shot. Erin's graduation. Before they'd gone over to the school. She wasn't in a cap and gown yet. Just the lot of them on the front steps. Had a fucking neighbor they'd caught on the street take a shot of them before they'd piled into the car. They all looked so normal and happy in that picture. E was still just a toddler and was being a goof. Silly, silly face on him, as he tried to squirm out of Hank's arms and seemingly over Erin's shoulder. Justin just looked somewhere between annoyed and smug. This kid younger than Eth was now but so much taller than him. Healthier. Built. Just a sports machine. This happy kid. Not into his Terrible Teens yet. Not at Ignatius and it – and the people there – ripping him a part yet. Just your typically moody, too-cool-for-it-all twelve-year-old. Likely not impressed he was being dragged to his sister's never-ending grad affair at Ignatius. That'd been another hot June. Did remember that. But Erin just looked so proud of herself. And excited. And him and Camille? They just looked proud of their family. Content with it. Happy in that moment.

Wished that moment could've lasted. Could've gone on and on. Because right then – back then – things had seemed on track. Somewhere along the lines, though, they'd gotten thrown badly off track. They weren't on the track they'd thought they were back then. That's for fucking sure.

"Camille was working on reading them to Magoo," Hank told her, as he carefully moved each photo over to the dresser so he could pull out the books. Knew that was answer enough. "Just the first one you want? Or did you want them all?"

Just pulled out the first one while she stared at him. Thinking like he'd suddenly made this a challenging decision for her. But he probably had now that he'd disclosed why the books were in that room.

Erin would understand. Know. Camille had left them on the shelf in there. Likely would've just been a temporary location. But it had been where they were when they'd lost her. Where she'd put them. So they stayed put. Just like a whole lot of things in that house. Felt a little strange to be moving them now – to his thirty-year-old daughter's possession. But seemed like a lot of things were moving and shifting and changing these days. So, if that's what she wanted or needed in the moment – if it would help – she could take them. If Camille was around she'd likely be telling him he was a dunce for having them still sitting there anyways. To not have been reading them to their son. To not have moved them to Magoo's room and been encouraging him to read them on his own at this point in his life.

First of the books was real battered. Just a fucking paperback. Paging through it quickly, he noticed the stamp of Erin's old public school. One of them that she'd bounced through with Bunny – that he knew of anyway. He gave her a glance with the realization that this one really was hers. Or it was the school's – and she'd either lifted it or borrowed it and never returned it. And apparently they'd had it sitting on a bookshelf in their house for the better part of sixteen years. That likely all his kids had gone through it. His wife.

"I guess just the first," Erin mumbled, as he gave her a little smack at the discovery.

He allowed her a nod without comment on that, though, and took it back over to her. "Didn't realize you were such a fan," he said, as he handed it out and she almost reluctantly took it. "New one out this summer, wasn't there?"

"Yea …," she allowed, gazing at the cover of the children's novel.

"You planning on re-reading them before checking it out?" he asked. Small talk. Didn't excel at that. But small talk seemed to be more than they could manage these days. So not much point in trying to push for bigger or deeper. This was likely asking her more than she wanted to say anyway.

She made a little noise and shook her head, looking up at him. Really looking at him. There still something there. Wouldn't exactly say it was understanding but there was a bit more softness than most of the looks she gave him these days. Though, there was still some kind of accusation to it.

"Was going to see if maybe Ethan wanted to read them," she said and looked down at the book. "But if his mom already read them to him…"

Hank gave his head a little shake at that. "Don't think she got through all of them with him. He won't remember them. Think he's seen most of the movies, though."

She nodded and went back to looking at the cover. "The movies are different. The books are better," she said quietly.

"Always are," he conceded and she gave him an upward glance. He gestured back at the shelf. "You can take them all, if you want. It's OK."

She shook her head. "No, it's OK," she allowed.

But Hank shrugged. "Should be being read, not sitting on a shelf collecting dust," he said and moved back to the shelf, pulling the remainder off. A good pile they were. "That one looks pretty thin," he added as he worked. "Maybe you can get him through it pretty fast. Get him hooked."

"Maybe …," she allowed, as he brought over the heap. Heavy things. Outside of that battered one, the rest of were hardcovers. Camille had clearly been buying with the intention of keeping them in the kids' library for some time. Maybe they were on the list of things that she probably would've liked to end up in Henry's library too. Maybe they could look at that option when he got a bit older. After Erin took a whack at getting E to take a gander at them.

"Not sure it's really going to be his thing," she said, as he took the weight of the pile and looked down the spines.

"Tell him you like them," Hank told her gently and then added with a nod, "Tell him his brother read them too."

She looked up at him with that sadness in her eyes. The same sadness he saw in Magoo's eyes. Saw in his own. In Olive's. Even flickering ever so much in H's. Sadness that he knew he couldn't do shit to make disappear. Could only hope with time some of it would fade into the background a bit.

Time. That'd what it'd been with Camille. Give it time. But time only helped so much. Just got you farther away from it all. As far as you could get when you lived in a haunted house and a murderous fucking city and that you lurked in the shadows with the rest of the fucking monsters and mobsters.

"One's missing …," she said quietly and glanced at the spines again.

Hank just looked at them and grunted. "Maybe hadn't got them all yet?"

But Erin shook her head. "The fourth one's missing. Goblet of Fire."

He gave her a look at that. Funny that she was able to pull that out of her ass. Didn't remember her reading the books that much as a teen. Figured that most've them would've released after she would've aged out of the series. Related them more to Camille. Her reading them to Eth. That was about the only point they were really on his radar. But he supposed there were a lot of things that hadn't been on his radar the way they should've been while his kids were growing up.

Erin caught the look and gave a little shrug and another little head shake, looking down at the pile in her extended arms.

"It released the summer I moved in," she provided quietly, avoiding his eyes but finally giving him this little, reluctant glance. "She'd seen that I had the first book." She made a small sound at that. A little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth ever so briefly but quickly fading. Knew she didn't want to small. Not around him. Hardly wanted to talk to him. But she was talking. Speaking. Telling him something. Anything.

She looked up a bit at that, caught his eyes. "She was trying so hard to connect with me at that point. I wasn't even that into the books. I mean … Harry Potter? C'mon. I was fourteen. But she took me out to the release party. Do you remember that?"

Hank made a little sound of acknowledgement but shook his head. Because he didn't. It wasn't something that stuck out for him. But there were lots of things he wished he could rewind and re-watch. Commit to memory. Or even have a fucking repeat. A do-over. Try it all again. Do it differently. Give them all a different outcome.

But Erin just gave a little nod. "Yea … we went the Magic Tree," she said with a shake of her head. "Middle of the night. People all dressed up and excited. And we stood in the line and got the book at midnight. Then went for coffee. Not even coffee. It was some just … sugar-filled and whipped cream-topped mess. It was Starbucks," she nearly laughed. "And we had some sort of square that was likely even full of more sugar. It must be at least 1 a.m. and the street and the Starbucks – just crawling with all these moms and their kids. And we sat there having … dessert for breakfast … and started reading The Goblet of Fire right there." She did allow him a thin smile at that. Though, he knew it wasn't for him. It was for Camille. "She told me not to tell you about the Starbucks. The sugar for breakfast."

He made a little sound at that and allowed a thin smile. "Sounds about right."

All this would be so fucking different if Camille was there. Had to wonder if any of this would've ever happened. Had to think that Justin's mother would've kept him on the right path. Had to think that him and Camille would've been able to fix all that back then so that they never reached where they were today. Not with Justin. Not with any of his kids. Not with his family. It'd be fucking different.

He sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face once and went over to Camille's side of the bed – because he did know where the Goblet of Fire was. Knew the moment she'd said the name. But maybe he'd wanted to forget. Maybe as much as he was ready to give up those books occupying space on that shelf, he hadn't been ready to quite hand-off that one book. But maybe right now – going back to the one kid she'd bought it with and to the youngest she'd been reading it to – that's what was supposed to happen to it. Especially now.

So he pulled open the drawer on his wife's bedside table and gazed at the hardcover sitting in that drawer for a long moment. It'd sat on her nightstand for ages. Hadn't been able to touch it. Just hadn't. Knowing it was likely one of the last things she'd touched in the room. Knowing his son in the hospital in a coma was laying against her listening while she touched it and turned its pages and read to him. That it might've been about the last story his little boy really heard and he hadn't gotten to hear the end. He didn't get to know how any of it ended.

Eventually there reached a point he couldn't look at it sitting there anymore. But he also couldn't move it very far. So it'd just got put in the drawer. Not that books belonged in drawers either. But that was the most he could manage then. Supposed it was the most he'd been able to manage for six years.

But he let out a breath and he reached to pick it up. It felt real fucking heavy. Heavier than the other ones. Than that whole fucking pile. Even though there were other books in the collection far thicker than this one.

Turned, though, and moved to take it back to Erin. She was looking at him. Face had changed. Sadder. Softer. Her eyes too. Because he didn't need to explain why it was over there and why it was in that drawer. She knew that too.

He handed it out to her but gestured up at the tassel of the bookmark sticking out the top. Because Camille didn't deface books and to her that meant you didn't fold the pages to mark your spot either.

"Just …," he sighed and shook his head. His eyes stung a bit but didn't want to much end up glassy-eyed in front of his girl again. Knew she didn't much appreciated it and it wasn't fixing anything for them. But he could see that her eyes were glassing. "Just … don't lose their spot," he managed to get out and looked down because that was about the most he could manage to keep her from seeing what his eyes were doing at that point.

"Yea …," she acknowledged a little brokenly and added it to the pile.

She just stood there though. Looking at him. Felt like she had something more to say. But anymore it always felt like she had something more to say but she didn't. His girl who always had more than enough to say for everyone in the room. Kid with a mouth big enough to fit both feet into. She was real quiet when it came to saying anything to him anymore. Didn't have to hear her opinion or a piece of her mind. Didn't get talked to like the guy who raised her. Hardly got spoken to like a boss.

"Did you ever read them?" she finally asked.

"Mmm …," he grunted dismissively. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes briefly, shaking his head. But then he managed to raise them to find hers. "Not really my thing. Camille's thing with you guys. Sure I heard a few chapters along the way."

Erin allowed a little nod but then shuffled books' weight in her arms and pulled the first one out from under the one he'd just let go of – after all these years. She awkwardly held it out at him, as she tried to support the weight of the rest of them. He took it but gave her a questioning look of his own.

"Look at the title of the first chapter," she put flatly.

He scrunched his brow at her but listened to her. Because he was learning to listen to his kids more. Really listen. And really hear what they were saying to him. Honor it. He made a career out of looking people in the eyes and weighing the meaning of their words. But he needed to apply that more at home. That was something he wished he'd learned – applied – a whole lot sooner than this. Add it to the list of things he wished he'd done differently.

Voight flipped through the pages. Them flipping by as he made his way through the various copyrights and dedications and intentionally blank pages until the first page of the actual story stared him in the eye. Until the chapter's title was there in front of him in bold type: THE BOY WHO LIVED.

He cast his eyes up at her.

"That's one of the reasons I think he should read it. Now," she said. "Maybe you should too."

He allowed her a sad smile at that but looked down at the title again. The boy who lived. That was Magoo. It was who he still needed to be. Who Voight wanted him to be.

So, "Yeah, maybe I should," he agreed.

Maybe that'd be another something to hold onto. For all of them.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The reader count on Chapter 13 (Great Escape) is still pretty flow compared to the others and without the 24-hour posting gap bump. So you may still want to double-check you didn't miss it. It's a Hank-Erin playing off of a scene from S4E1.**

 **There will likely be a Jay/Will chapter posted before this one at some point. But it's going to be pretty heavy dealing with some of Jay's past and their childhood and relationship. Plays off of a couple lines in S2E3 of Med. Basically I didn't want to write something that heavy right now. Because I know this one was real light …**

 **There will likely be a chapter after this one playing off of that Jay/Will chapter too. Not sure it's what will get written next. Will more likely be a Jay/Erin/Ethan chapter or the Hank/Platt/Ethan chapter, which will play off of S4E3.**

 **As always, your readership, comments, feedbacks and reviews are much appreciated.**


	16. More Than Enough

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 *****WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS A STRONG M.******

 **This chapter is set after what is currently Chapter 15 (Bookends). It is also set after the Will/Jay chapter, which hasn't been written yet but will deal with their childhood partially. It will be reordered later.**

Erin smiled into the kiss as Jay lifted her up and settled her onto the kitchen counter. That counter saw way too much action. It seemed like more often than not – when they were in one of these moods … these frenzies – they barely made it in the door and only managed to get up the hallway before their clothes started coming off. The counter was becoming nearly a mandatory stop. Part of the routine. Fuck, she might miss having it there if they did get the townhouse. They'd have to find something else to christen – to become their foreplay slash make out spot there. Find a new routine. New normal.

But this routine – this normal – was pretty fucking good. She liked it. And as her ass settled onto the granite countertop – the good nearly five inches in height difference they had between them eliminated, giving them the perfect level to really kiss without weird angles or cramped necks – she knew they were on. And she so needed that.

She'd needed it all weekend. The whole fucking trip. She'd spent a ridiculous amount of time just wanting to get home to him. Not even for the sex – though, she'd definitely been looking forward to the 'welcome back' fuck. It was just she missed him. She needed him. He stability he brought to her life. Especially right now. She was just ridiculously, madly in love with him.

He was pretty much the center of her world right now. Not just the only one she could trust – that she could reply on – but the one person, the one thing in the world, that was helping her keep her sanity during all of this. He'd become her rock. Probably more than he should be. More than she'd ever let another person fulfill that role in her life before. Trusted them with it. Replied on them in that way.

But with all they'd gone through in the past eighteen-plus months. Their on-again-off-again. Losing Nadia. That pain. Her banana peel and him reaching down to pull her out. Her fear of losing him and having to save him the way he'd tried desperately to save her. The way he'd had her back. Ethan coming home – Jay becoming not just her family but family. Real family. Henry being born. Her having a baby nephew. And a sister-in-law. Them getting engaged too. A ring on her finger. Ethan in and out of the hospital. The fear there. His diagnosis. The seizures. The chemo. The meningitis. Having to watch a little boy – her baby brother – go through all that. The struggles. The tears. And the fears and struggles of their own – as a couple too. The fights and the talks. The scares at work and the arguments and disagreements about professional decision. The laughs and the drinks. The getting back to a normal – their normal. And then the baby … the miscarriage. And then Justin. And all this. The shadows they lived in. They looking over their shoulders. All the changes and the unimaginable pain at the loss. But they weren't going to change. They weren't one of the things that were going to come and go in life. So now there was this. The offer on the townhouse. The talk of going and filling out the paperwork – making the ring on her finger official. Sealing their love – their commitment. Having their normal. Their new fucking normal.

She couldn't imagine going through all of it with anyone else. She couldn't imagine anyone else who would've stuck around through all of it. Who would've stood by her. Helped her through it. Given her space while not giving her space. Keeping her level. Sane. She needed him. She loved him.

And as he pulled back just slightly to work at the buttons on her shirt, to shuck the sleeves down her arms – she could see in his eyes he felt the same. The need there. The love. The way he looked at her.

Sometimes it scared her. Because there was such a softness to them. There was his own apprehension and unsurely. This fear that she knew was about him but also about her. That she'd decide he wasn't enough. Or that she didn't want this – or him. That he wasn't enough. But he was enough – and then some. He was more – better – than she could've ever imagined a man could be. Especially the kind of man that she'd be able to settle into a relationship with.

She wanted this – wanted him – as much as he did. As much as he wanted her. She couldn't let go of him. She was scared to. She didn't want to even try to imagine going through this without him. She didn't think she would've made it this far – through these past eighteen months without him. And now she couldn't even fathom attempting life – the future – without him as a part of her life. Without him by her side. To tease her. To flirt with her. To hug her and comfort her. To laugh at her and whine at her. To lift her up when she was down and to bring her back to fucking reality when she got up on some high horse or went spinning in a direction she shouldn't be headed. To pull her out of holes and to make sure she wasn't stepping on banana peels. But to catch her when she did slip. To help keep her upright.

But she wanted just as badly to do the same for him. To repay him for all he'd done for her. For her family – that was. For her baby brother. For all he'd do for the family they'd make themselves. Now. The future they'd carve out for themselves. The new path they were finding. And that even in the midst of everything that was going on, she was excited about in some way. A house. A home. A husband – a partner, a lover, a best friend.

And as he tried to wipe away all her hurt. To deflect it and divert it and to carry some of the load – she wanted to do the same. To hug him in the midst of his own pain and fears. To carry some of his load too. To hold his hand and wipe his tears and to mercilessly tease him and antagonize him with the flirting. To banter until they were some old couple rocking on one of the decks of their townhouse – if they got it.

To make the gamble. To slow down. To fucking live until they died. But not to take the day for granted. To work for all they had. As long as they did it within reach of each other's hands. Knowing they were never going to leave each other's sides. Not now.

Some cheesy love song. A ballad. Some poem she hadn't bothered to read in high school. A sonnet. But when she was with him – it felt like it should be all those things. And it didn't feel so cheesy. It felt right. More right than a lot of things in her life had ever felt.

As his mouth returned to hers in their rapid escalation. He was pressed against her. Her knees parted for him. But they both just felt too clothed. Even with her shirt gone. Her tank was keeping him from touching her skin the way she wanted to feel his hands on her. His shirt was blocking her palms from his chest.

So she moved to take her turn in working at getting his shirt off. Of course he'd had to wear a shirt with buttons today. He almost never pulled on a button-down. He somehow (in)conveniently managed to pick the days they were on a mission to the bedroom to wear one of the about three he had in his whole closet. He was like he had a sixth sense for it. Or maybe just seeing him in something that wasn't a Henley got her going.

Maybe other days that might be true. Today? Today she just needed him. Wanted him. More than usual.

Maybe being away – separated – really did make the heart grow fonder. Maybe she just really needed him to re-stabilize her after being away for the weekend. After being around Hank and Ethan for the weekend. After being back in the house for dinner. After talking to Hank and seeing him near tears again as he struggled and she forced herself to try not to feel and not care. Which was impossible to do, she was learning. Even more impossible when Camille had come into the conversation. When she was confronted with her own memories of her and given knew insights into the woman as a wife and as a mother. As she was handed a piece of that relationship Camille had had with Hank and with Justin and with Ethan – and left with the responsibility of caring for it.

She needed Jay right now. Wanted him.

She wanted to make love to him. Deeply.

He grew tired of her fumbling efforts with his buttons and he broke the kiss again. This time backing away from her far enough to pull the shirt over his head. To toss it to the floor for later retrieval. To continue their usual trail of clothing to the bedroom – if they made in there. They would this time. She knew that. Because she wanted to take their time with this. She wanted to minister to him as much as he usually did her. To make sure he knew how glad she was to be home – to him. That it was where she wanted to be. Where she needed to be. That he understood how he made her feel. That she wanted him to feel some of it.

His body crushed back against hers as he flailed his arm out of the cuff that didn't want to fall off his wrist. His mouth finding hers again – with a greater urgency. And then he did that thing he did – that made her smile even more. Because it was so inexcusably cheesy but she loved it so much when he did it too. How he pulled her to his waist, and took on her weight as he carried her to the bedroom.

He near tossed her onto the bed, giving her that cocky teen-aged boy grin as he did. That smile that he knew he was going to get some at that point – if he hadn't already caught on before.

But she just smiled back as she propped herself up on her elbows to look at him and then sat up more to pull her tank over her head. The way he bit on his lip as he gazed at her stomach – her breasts and the silky bra supporting them. She scooted forward slightly and reached to pull his belt loose, whipping it out of the loops.

The front of his jeans were already starting to tent and she leaned forward to put a few light kisses against his navel, as she worked at his fly and then looped her fingers along the waist of the pants to push them down slightly. He took over the rest, as she settled back into the bed, waiting for him.

He kicked the jeans off his ankles, and shucked each of his socks as he crawled up the mattress in his briefs. He settled into the mattress next to her. Laying on his hip and hovering of her as his mouth found hers again and his hand finally touched her skin. Settling on her hip as they kissed. Deeper and deeper. Open mouth now. Their tongues exploring and massaging. Tasting.

Erin's hands slid up his neck, stroking at his chin and his stuble. Holding his kiss against her. Deepening it even more as his hand slide up and cupped at her breast through her bra. Weighing it and lightly squeezing at it before it traced around to her back. She arced she shoulder blades slightly – giving him more room, and he easily managed to pinch the fabric and she felt the clasp release.

Jay briefly stopped the kiss again, gazing at her. Meeting her eyes as she panted at him slightly. Her heart rate was elevated. She could feel how her body was starting to hum. The sensitivity to his touch jolting about her nerve-endings on her sensitive and exposed skin. Her lips were tingling too with the sensitivity and arousal from the kissing. She could feel the warmth of the flushing that she knew had already settled into her cheeks and started to spread down her neck and to her upper chest. That the arousal was tingling and spreading in her lower back and pulling at her core.

She knew she was already wet. She could feel her need there already. That her body was already telling her how much she wanted him. How she wanted to feel his weight over top of her. To feel him inside her. Filling her. To have that sensation that didn't have anything to do with sex – this new sensation that she'd never had with a man before but she had so often with him when they had sex – when they joined together. When they moved in unison. As their breathing – panting – and heart rates jointed. As their bodies moved and rocked and jolted together. As they found a rhythm. Or didn't. Sometimes they just lay there – not still – but little more than pressing together, closer and closer in gentle thrusts as they kissed and held each other and breathed each others air and filled each others space and smelled and tasted each other. And that's what she wanted that night. For her – but also for him. So as much as her body said to take him – right then – as much as she knew if he started playing with her clit or dipping is fingers inside her or he put his mouth on her – that he'd have her and she'd have hers far too quickly – she was making herself wait. She wanted slow. For both of them.

Jay pulled the straps of her bra off her shoulders and kept a grip on the material as she pulled it off her arms, again tossing it aside. His eyes shifted from her face to her breasts. Watching as his hands returned to the flesh there. Feeling each – with gently caress over the sensitive skin with his rough fingertips. His thumb flicking at her nipples and then his head dipping to lap his rougher tongue against them only to pull away and his mouth breath to be replaced with the cool air, causing them to stand even more erect and for her core to pull even tauter as he gave a gentle twist against each before his mouth moved to suck along her neck, his tongue tracing even more.

Erin let out a little moan at that. Her hips pushing up involuntarily at the sensation – knocking against his angled hip next to hers. Bumping into his arousal before she let herself settle into the mattress and to enjoy his movements. The feel of his tongue. The sounds of his sucks and kisses. The spots he was picking to administer too. The spots that proved he was the first man she'd spent any sort of time with – because he knew her spots. He knew what she liked. He knew what got her ready and what got her going. And there was something she loved about that too. The familiarity. The trust. The ability to just be.

As he moved to below her ear, kissing there, she moved her hand too. She rested it against his hip and traced her nails up his back before returning it to its spot and then shifted her head to find his mouth again. Easily nudging his lips open and kissing him – tasting him – as he hand moved forward and slowly … gently … found him through his shorts. He didn't protest. He didn't move away from her fingers – so she gently proceeded to trace her fingertips along the length of him through the material. Finding his head and carefully gripping the material just under it to create some friction.

He made a quiet sound and she smiled into the kiss. She let go and moved her hand again, this time pushing it down the front of his shorts. He again let her. So she found him again. It didn't exactly take much looking. He was more than ready too. He was warm and hard in her hand. His taut skin so soft, though.

He had a bit of pre-cum already and she used her thumb to spread it across his sensitive glands. He groaned into the kiss at that and broke it. His head lulling a bit and she moved her mouth to his neck that time. Doing her own kisses and sucks and nips, as he reached to more purposely push his sort farther down – giving her more access – as he rolled onto his back.

Erin sat up slightly, taking her turn on her hip, and pushing the briefs all the way down his legs, looping them off his ankles as he kicked slightly to get rid of them. He raised to his elbows as he managed to get them off, his hands finding the fly on her jeans and quickly unbuttoning them himself, pulling at them slightly. She took heed of his urgency and made herself get up off the bed – keeping his eyes as she shimmied the material down her hips and stepped out of them. But his eyes stayed on her apex – heavy with his desire.

She dipped her head slightly to catch his eyes again, raising her eyebrow at him and giving him a teasing smile, as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. His eyes shifted back to the show and she quickly removed them – only let him see her so much. Because there was a heat to his intensity that she loved but also still felt herself squirm under. The insecurity of being looked at that way. Because as much as there was lust and desire and arousal in his gaze – she also knew it was a look just for her and beneath it there was love. A deep and passionate love that he showed her in ways that she didn't even know existed previously – even though his statements of "I love you" were still done casually. Because he also knew that was what they were both most comfortable with. It was what was normal for them. Acceptable for them. And there was something better about feeling the love – being shown it – than just hearing the words.

She got back into the bed next to him – with full intentions of returning her hand to his arousal. Returning her mouth to his – briefly, before it explored his neck and ears and throat and chest and stomach. But her hip had barely hit the mattress before he was back on his and pressed against her. His arousal pinned between them – pushing against her, as his hand moved from her hip to her ass to her trace over her ribs and to find her breast as his mouth explored. As her mouth did the same and both of their breaths exhaled near their ears in brief breaks. In quiet groans and moans and catches in their throats.

His hand trailed down her stomach and his fingers brushed passed her clit – causing her breath to catch even more, as they parted her lips and then dipped farther to find her core. To find her wetness – only to dip there and to spread the moisture upwards and to trace light circles around her sensitive nub. She exhaled a moan again, her neck arcing in a way beyond her control and he took it as a cue to return his mouth to her throat.

She moaned harder at the feeling of it. His mouth. His fingers. His warm breath. His hardness nudging at her in firm demand. His flat chest pressing against her in his own aroused breathing. His arms so strong and the muscles flexing after so slightly in his movement and administrations. His legs tangled up with hers.

"Jay …," she finally managed breathlessly, "I want to take our time."

His mouth stopped its movements at that and he lifted his headed – finding her eyes. Those eyes that were likely one of the top reasons she'd fallen so badly for him. The deep emotion there. The stories. The ones she'd heard and hadn't yet heard. The sadness and the happiness and the tease and the laughter and the anger. The sparkle and flicker to them. They spoke so much even when they didn't speak. They told her what she needed to know and then some most days.

"Me too," he told her quietly.

She allowed a little nod. And as much as she didn't want to have his fingers stop what they were doing – as much as she wanted them to move and dip inside her, as much as she knew Jay's fingers were the perfect length and that he knew just how to curl them and stroke at her inside to make her feel like she was going to lose her mind before she slipped over the edge into intense pleasure. A powerful orgasm that some how always felt better when he let her ride it out but only come down partially before he entered her aroused body. Before she felt the length of him and the girth of him and the weight of him over top of her. That at that sensitivity and with the right angle and right rhythm and right depth, she could surprisingly easily cum again and sometimes it felt even better. To grip around him. To feel him there. Inside her. With her. To feel him pound at her in the moment after as he took his own. That sometimes the sensations of it all were too much. But it was too good too. To look forward to. To desire it. To do it on repeat. Again and again. To strive for those moments. For those fucks. For those orgasms. For that togetherness. And she knew both of there bodies were in a spot they could get there tonight. If they wanted to. That way. Easily.

But it wasn't the way she wanted. Not what she wanted. Not that night. She wanted to make love to him as much as she wanted to be made love to.

So she nudged him again – forcing him to remove his hand, and to settle onto his back. Letting her hover over him. Letting her kiss his shoulders and chest and stomach and navel. Letting her work back upward, as her fingers first flicked behind his knees and lightly trailed up his thighs and then his inner thighs and then tickling along the back of his scrotum before weighing and tugging gently on his balls, and running her thumb along the sac until her mouth was back against his and her hand was back around his erection.

They kissed. Their tongues finding a slow rhythm with their exploration that her hand matched with its own strokes. That her thumb continued to caress at his frenulum until he groaned into their joint mouths. She smiled into it and let her mouth move as his head fell back even more. His throat fully exposed for her mouth to explore now, while her thumb moved just slightly – returning to work at its previous efforts to now spread the freely seeping pre-cum.

"Erin …," he moaned out even more and lifted his head slightly to look at her.

She met his eyes that time. More fully. More deeply. "I want to make love to you," she told him.

His eyes flickered as he processed that against his arousal but he nodded ever so slightly. "OK …," he allowed.

And it was all she needed in approval to move off her hip and straddle him. His hands stroking at her thighs as she did. As she again found him and this time only used her hands to guide him to her. She was so wet and he was so firm, that there was barely an resistance from her body. From their bodies that had grown accustom to each other. And he just glided right into her. Her watching his eyes as he did. There was this flicker there that seemed to contain something else. Like his mind had momentarily drifted but then his eyes moved away from watching their union to find hers.

"I love you," he told her. There was a sincerity to it. It was like this completely honest utterance had replaced the usual little sound he made as he entered her.

She skewed her eyebrow at him but gave him a little smile. "I love you too," she confirmed. Truly. Madly. Deeply. She loved him. She was crazy about him.

His hands settled on her hips as they eyed each other. Him just holding her in place. Her just feeling him inside her. Not even that. She was feeling them together.

There was sex. There was fucking. There was making love. And then there was this, she was learning. These moments where you just realized – knew – you were one and the same. You were connected in this way that you couldn't quite wrap your head around. That you didn't know how to explain. That maybe there weren't really words for. That maybe you felt it without this. You felt it in the day-to-day. But there was something about the moments where you actually brought your bodies together. Where you made that union. And there was something more to it when you were able to stop – even if just for a few moments – and feel that union. To be together before you bodies and instinct and nature took over and drove you into your rhythms and thrusts and the pursuit of that beautiful agony you were able to inflict on each other. That painful pleasure of the orgasm. That trust and vulnerability.

There were these moments where you could just be so raw and so naked and so together. Joined.

And that's what their existence felt like anymore. It's what they'd become. It was what they were. In this incomprehensible way. But this way that felt right. It just felt like they were two pieces of the puzzle that were supposed to fit together. That it'd just taken them their lifetimes to find that other piece. The one they were supposed to be joined with.

But now they were. Literally.

His eyes drifted back briefly to where they were physically connected in that moment. To her thighs resting on either side of his waist. To his arousal engulfed inside her. But then his eyes moved back to hers, flickering more.

"You make me … feel like a man," he said with this strange tenor in his voice. His eyes flickering more.

She leaned forward and stroked at his stubble. His hips pressed up against her as she did.

"You are a man," she told him, "and that's got nothing to do with what we do in the bedroom."

He gave her a small smile at that. She adjusted more, his hips again adjusting too. But she found his mouth and kissed him gently. Several firm unions of their lips as she settled against him – as her hips tilted forward and her legs slide slightly back, as he pressed up more firmly to ensure they kept their connection. That he didn't slip out, though she could feel him forcing himself to keep from starting to find their rhythm.

She rose slightly and hung over him. Her hair dangling slightly in his face.

"You OK?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yea," he allowed, running his hands down her thighs again. "I just meant … you make me feel like enough."

Her moved her hand to again swipe her thumb along his jaw line, to stroke at his chin, before leaning in again to give him another peck. "You're more than enough, Jay," she told him as she broke the kiss. "You're everything to me. And you show me every day now just that you're a man – but what kind of man you are."

He gazed at her. This sadness and love intermixing in his eyes that she wasn't entirely sure where it was all coming from, as his thumbs swiped at the side of her knees.

"I want to make love to you tonight," he finally managed. "I need to."

She gazed at him, measuring his statement, but then leaned in to give him a brief kiss again. This time settling against him as she did, letting her legs slip back, as she settled her weight against him.

"We can make love to each other," she told him, as she let her chest come down, as she again found his mouth and latched on to, using her tongue to nudge his lips open, as she started to rock and grind against him.

And there wasn't any more argument. No more discussion. And his hands came up to her ass – squeeze and caress and holding her tight against him as he pushed up into each of her movements. Together.

Because now. Together. That's all that mattered to her. The logistics of it. The good and the bad. The hard days and the fun days. It didn't matter — as long as they were together.

They'd work it out. They'd make it work.

His past. Her past. Whatever it was. Whatever it maybe. What was said and unsaid. It didn't matter now. They knew each other well enough. They knew enough. They were in it together. So now that was what matter. That was their future.

And that was manageable. It was real. Normal. Routine.

It was more than enough. For her. More than she'd hoped for. Or imagined.

She liked it. She loved it. As much as she loved him.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: This chapter goes after Bookends (Chapter 15). There might be a follow on it to have them talk a bit more. Undecided. This chapter is also set after the Will/Jay chapter, which will go after Not Fast Enough (Chapter 14), but which hasn't been written yet.**

 **There might be one more chapter tonight or tomorrow but after that there will be at least a week — possibly more like two before there is another update.**


	17. Far Away

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 16 (More than Enough). It will be reordered later. So basically it goes way back to around getting home from Ethan's tournament in Omaha.**

 ******RATING WARNING — THE TOP PART OF THIS CHAPTER IS AN M. IT CONTAINS STRONG SEXUAL DISCUSSION AND REFERENCES.**

 **THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER IS AN IMPORTANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN ERIN AND JAY. THE CHANGE OF M-RATED CONTENT TO THE T-RATE CONVERSATION IS NOTED IN BOLD AND ASTERISKS, SO YOU CAN SKIP DOWN TO THAT IF THE M CONTENT IS NOT YOUR THING OR YOU'RE UNDERAGE.*****

With the way Jay's hand – his fingers – were tracing against the dip in her hip, Erin found herself almost wishing his hand would dip down farther. That it'd snake between her legs and he'd move his sensual play there. But she already knew that wasn't likely to happen. The look on Jay's face told her that he'd done one of his little check-outs. He wasn't there with her in that moment – despite the fact he was physically there. Sometimes he came back rather quickly but he'd been laying there on his side with that blank, far-off look on his face for far too long now.

It hurt a bit. Concerned her a bit. Because they'd had a nice session. They'd made love. But she knew that sometimes he struggled with the times where he relinquished control to her. That he'd let her completely control their pace and both their orgasms that time. She'd done the majority of the work. And she hadn't minded. Though, she'd been a little surprised. He rarely let her be in the dominant position when he came. He always took back control before letting himself go over the edge. For whatever reason he hadn't that night.

And in the moment it'd been nice. She'd been happy to be the one to do that for him. Because sometimes, she really felt like he wouldn't let her do much. Or she wasn't able to offer him much. He struggled with being touched after he was erect. She struggled with having her face near his erection. She still hadn't been able to bring herself to take him in her mouth, even though she knew he wanted it. He'd stopped asking. They'd stopped talking about it. But she just wasn't comfortable with it. She'd tried to easy into it a few times. Getting comfortable kissing and tickling at his inner thighs – still being able to position herself and use her hands to make sure she kept well enough away from memories she didn't want invading her moments with him. But she was really starting to doubt she'd ever be ready to take that plunge – literally and figuratively. To take him in her mouth. To be able to enjoy it and not just have it eat at her. And she wasn't sure knowing it was pleasuring him, that he wanted it, that he was loving it was enough to make her want to even try. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But between both of their issues, it often meant that she felt like the only way she could really give him the pleasure, release and gratification he wanted and needed – and deserved – in the bedroom, meant she had to spread her legs. That that meant some times she just felt like she was just becoming another vessel for another man. For his purposes. Not that Jay ever specifically made her feel like that. He was kind with her and gentle with her and worked hard to make sure he was pleasuring her too and giving her what she wanted and needed in a particular session. But then there were other times where he just got that look on his face. The one where they were just going through the motions. That he was checked out. That he was only partially there and wasn't an active participant in the way she'd like. And something about that always scared her just a little bit. He always came back, though.

That night he'd stayed with her. During the sex – the love making. She'd looked into his eyes for most of it. As much as he'd let her. Because as their movements intensified, he'd seemingly become fascinated with watching the joining of their bodies as she rode him. He'd gotten into it in a way that was unusual for him. He hadn't just laid there and let her have her turn on top – in control. He'd joined in his own thrusting. Meeting her movements. Bouncing his hips – and them – up and down on the bed. It'd been a bit of a work out. And he wasn't bad to look at either. She'd liked her view too. The sweat starting to bead on him. The tautness in his abs. Her hands rubbing at his chest.

He'd taken a break – flooded with the agony of the arousal – and let his head fall back, as she continued her movements. It'd opened up more opportunities for her to lean forward and lip and suck and kiss. He was sweet and salty with their efforts as she kissed at his pecks and shoulders and neck and ears. It wasn't so much kissing as it was licks and nips and sucks. And the sounds he was making only confirmed he was enjoying it.

As she repositioned herself – sitting back up straighter on him – they'd continued in their staring at each other. The joint eye contact in their labored breathing. Her increasing efforts to take them both over the edge that they seemed to just be teetering on. Clinging to without falling off. But they'd gone over.

He'd gone over first. It was another rarity for them. He was nearly always so committed to making sure that she came at least once before he penetrated her. It wasn't uncommon for him to try for more than once if she'd let him or she was interested. If she came again while he was inside her, it was just a nice added bonus. An extra added bonus if he decided he was going to bring her over sensitive body even more beautiful agony after he'd pulled out. He often left her a little chaffed and very rubbery in the limbs by the time they were done some of their more intense sessions. He treated it like his job. And even though, she supposed, in a way it was, she also had always felt very accountable for her own orgasm. So it was a shift in perspective and experience to have someone who wanted to and was willing to put her first. To the point that he almost absurdly over apologized on the handful of times he'd taken his before her. And more ridiculously declined to finish himself on the occasional nights that she'd had to just tell him that it wasn't going to happen for her that night. That her mind and body just weren't staying in the moment enough. But that he could go ahead. He didn't though. If she wasn't going to orgasm, he wasn't either. Which annoyed her, because there'd been more than one time where he'd gotten her off with his fingers or mouth but then hadn't had interest in penetrative sex. But didn't want a handjob and she didn't want to give him a blowjob. So there was an unfair balance.

Once – when she was on her period and crampy and horny as fuck but not interested in being fucked – he'd gotten her off with his fingers and had apparently been horny enough that night himself that he wanted to get off too. He'd laid next to her on the mattress and masturbated himself to ejaculation while she kissed at his neck and trailed her fingers down his chest. Though, part of her had been frustrated that he wasn't letting her do it for him – again, another part of her knew that had been a huge step for him. To let himself be that vulnerable and exposed to her as he pleasured himself. And there'd been something incredibly sexy about watching him touch himself. About seeing what he liked. How he was holding himself and stroking himself. And the look on his face in the personal pleasure. The change in his breathing. The flushing down in his neck and chest. The coloring of his engorged penis in his strong grip. But, again, another part of her had wished she was the one bringing that kind of pleasure to him. Instead, she'd tried to focus on the sexuality of it. Watching him in a raw moment. Learning what she could in that single time he'd allowed her to watch. And she'd since applied some of it and he'd slowly been letting her touch him – stroke him – more and more in their sessions. She had to hope that eventually, they'd reach a point where it was more than just a few passing strokes in their foreplay.

She'd taken that he'd let her take control that night – that he'd let himself orgasm first – as another sign that they were progressing in their sexual relationship and repertoire and comfort with each other. That again it'd been incredible sexy to feel him tense and become more demanding with his bucking hips underneath her. For his hands to grip so firmly at her buttocks and then her hips as he pounded up into her. The way the red had spread down his neck and across his chest. The way his face at skewed his in his pursuit. And the warm feeling as he ejaculated into her – deeply. As she could feel him twitching inside her and the little restraint sounds he made, the small twitch at the pleasure in the sensitive nerves that were exploding with information as he slowed his movements but seemed to continue to get another little jolt of that agony of the nerve endings. It'd been enough to send her over her own edge. Her pulsing around him, only made him moan more. But as she rode out her own pleasure – she'd let herself settle against him. Joining their soft moans as their bodies came down. As their sweat stuck their chests together. As their breathing pressed up and down against each other and their hearts pounded in unison.

It'd been nice. It'd been what she needed that night. That weekend. In so many ways. Being with him in a different way. But him so being there. She supposed that made it harder that he wasn't now.

That as their breathing had slowed and their heart rates returned to normal. That that the intermittent kissing stopped and she'd let herself roll off of him. That she'd let him slip out of her. And they'd both laid their on their sides just gazing at each other. He'd smiled at her at first. But then his hand started that movement and the smile had slowly faded and his eyes had become more and more far off until she'd known that he wasn't likely going to come back.

Usually after sex Jay was restless. She knew some of the time it was to hide that look he got. Where his head went. He used the restlessness – the excuse of getting them a drink or changing the playlist or making breakfast or needing to get ready for work – as a way to distract himself. Or her. To hide it. And she was sure it likely worked reasonably well with all and any of the women he hadn't wanted to be attached to. The short-term relationships and couple night-stands where it was perfectly acceptable and perfectly easy to slip out of their lives and bedrooms before they clued into that look.

And she understood. In her own way. Before Jay, she was always up and out of the bed – or the couch – as soon as the guy had pulled out. She was getting dressed and out of there. And she was finding the closest shower to wash what she'd done off of her. To cleanse herself of the guilt or disgust at herself or what she'd just done. To wash it all away. To get it off of her. To send it down the drain. And to forget about it – that man – as quickly as possible. To try to just let them have been a vehicle to getting her release. Or whatever else she needed in that particular moment … money, drugs, alcohol, human touch, the illusion of companionship … friendship. To delude herself into thinking she was in control. Of all of it. And that none of it had any meaning beyond meeting her own needs.

But that wasn't her and Jay. It'd never really worked that way for them. Not matter what she'd tried to start it out as. It'd never been a one-time thing. He'd never been just a fuck buddy. And it was hard to make herself feel in control and responsible for her needs when he was so generous with being cognizance of her needs and almost demanding in his want to meet them.

It was an adjustment for both of them. Sometimes she thought they were doing better. In so many ways. Though, she also wasn't sure that two people as damaged as them were ever going to have a completely normal sex life. Though, the more time she spent with Jay the more she realized that she had no idea what even constituted a normal sex life. They had a caring relationship and worked within each other's boundaries to try to fulfill the others wants and needs as best they could. She figured that was about as normal and as healthy that anyone could hope for. The rest of it just seemed like semantics sometimes.

She did know at least they'd managed to talk about all of it enough that they were both aware of each other's boundaries – even if they both occasionally got frustrated with them. But they'd also worked through some of it. They'd managed to push some of the boundaries a little farther. They'd built up their level of comfort with each other. That they'd expanded their repertoire a bit – so that even though Jay was a good and giving lover, they didn't always have to do his predictable little routine and positioning. They didn't have to be so mechanical about it like it was a forced social standard that he felt he had to observe and he acknowledged he occasionally needed and wanted for himself too. Yet, at the same time, there was something nice about knowing she'd been with this man long enough that he knew where and how to kiss her and touch her to get her going and to then get her off. As predictable as that routine could be and his methods sometimes were, there was something comforting about it too. There was a level of love and caring to it that was different than anything she'd experienced before – even if it was a little boring at times. But it was nice enough and comfortable enough, that she'd also managed to grow into not running for the shower as soon as they were done. Because as much as she still liked to clean up after – she didn't feel the need to go and wash away what they'd just done. She didn't feel guilty about it. It didn't make her feel dirty.

So now that she'd let him have his chance to zone out and come back, she knew it was now her responsibility to guide him back. Just like she'd guided him to orgasm that night, she needed to bring him back down to reality and not wherever he was at in his head. Because he didn't need to be feeling guilt or dirty either.

 ************** NON-M CONTENT STARTED HERE ******************

Erin reached for his face – intending to cup his cheek, the stubble there – but apparently her movement, its proximity to his face, was enough to snap him out of it. But not in a good way. The administrations on her hip stopped and that hand flew up to grab her wrist – too tightly.

"Hey," she said to him gently but firmly. "It's just me."

His eyes had flickered wild for a moment as his hand snapped up around her wrist. But that anger faded quickly and was just as quickly replaced with regret. There was an apology to them. But he never apologized when this happened. And it was another thing she tried to be understanding about and to not blow out or proportion. Because she knew she'd startled him – that she had to to pull him out of it. And she also knew – she firmly believed – that he'd never hurt her. That just as quickly as his hand had snapped around her wrist in that utter terror, his fingers had loosened and his hand had slipped way with just as much terror washing over his face that he'd done that and that she'd seen it.

Sometimes it happened on the nights he jerked awake and ended up waking her along with him. That it'd take him a few moments to orient and calm himself. And in those few moments he was disoriented enough that he didn't realize who was sleeping next to him or why they were there. But his initial panic generally passed quickly. Or he tried to make it seem like it did. Though, she could see in how he held his body – or how he excused himself to the bathroom or slipped into the living room to sit and stare at the TV for the rest of the night rather than letting himself go back to sleep – that it didn't really pass. That it never really would. And those moments she usually felt it was something from the war – from his time in the Rangers and his time in Afghanistan – that had jarred him out of his dreams. That were haunting him.

But then there were times like this. This look he got on his face. The timing around them. And it just drove home even more that Jay had been struggling with Post-Traumatic Stress before the military even let a teenager from a broken home enlist and sent him off to fight in Afghanistan while his mother slowly died back home in Chicago. That whatever trauma he experienced in theater just layered on top of what he'd already gone through. The kind of kid he'd already been. The kind of triggers he was already to susceptible too. And it sometimes amazed her that he'd managed to make it into adulthood – to come home – as a relatively functional, giving and caring man. At least he was to those he cared about. He was highly unlikeable – if not a downright bully – to those he didn't care about or disapproved of. But life had hardened him. And it was the way he'd learned to protect himself. And that was something she could understand too.

"Where'd you go?" she asked him gently, as his hand again returned to her hip.

But the question just caused him to make a quiet noise. For him to roll away from her and onto his back. To stare at the ceiling. But she wasn't going to take that as answer that night. Not when they'd just been so connected. They could do better. They both deserved better. They needed to strive for more – especially anymore. With all the other bullshit – and lies – swirling around them.

So she snuggled up to him. Settling her head against his chest and wrapping her arm up around his shoulder. Holding him.

"Tonight was really nice," she tried again.

"Yea …," he agreed after a long pause.

She rubbed her cheek against him and held him tighter. His arm coming up around her too.

"So why'd you check out on me then?" she asked.

He made that same little noise. And then he just lay there again. She was starting to think he was going to try their mutual method of ignoring a statement for as long as possible in the hopes the other person wouldn't press them farther.

But he finally allowed, "Will just said something the other day. I keep getting stuck on it."

"What'd he say?" Erin asked.

That noise again and that time it included a sigh. His free hand went up and went up to brush the short strands of hair that had matted to his forehead in their love making. But he still acted like he needed time to think about it. Or it was just far too much to process. More than he wanted to in that moment.

"He was trying to be … apologetic," Jay allowed. "But he fucked it up."

She rubbed her thumb along Jay's shoulder blade. "What was he apologizing for?"

"It wasn't much of an apology," Jay muttered.

She gripped his shoulder then. "What was it meant to be an apology for?"

He made a disgusted noise. "Nothing," he said. "He just had some patient that got to him and he decided to try to relate it to our lives as a way for us to talk more about him." He paused. She felt it and hoped there'd be more after he gave himself a beat to calm down, but all that he added was, "He's dating that pathologist now. As of this weekend. Nina. Took her home. They didn't fuck. She doesn't put out on a first date … apparently."

"Jay, I don't care who your brother is dating or fucking. Or when," she said, lifting her head up and gazing at him. He at least let her meet his eyes. "I care about what he said that upset you so much."

Jay gazed at her. Just set on her. This long time. This pained look that was simmering with anger. "He had a trans patient. His … her family was accepting. He said it made him think about how unaccepting our family is. How we'd disown someone for that."

She gazed at him, processing that and reached again to cup his cheek. He let her that time, as she rubbed her thumb over the stubble. "I don't believe that," she said. "You wouldn't. And Will would be as fucking socially awkward, retarded and indiscrete in his wording as he ever is – but I don't think he would either."

"I don't know about that …," Jay said under his breath, his eyes moving away from hers.

"What don't you know about that?" she pressed at him, tapping her thumb against his cheekbone until he looked at her again – with mild annoyance.

"He basically disowned me," he spat but settled with the realization he'd let that out. It washed over his face. Regret he'd slipped up. Surprise and horror that he'd let his armor crack. But he let out a slow breath and tilted his head to gaze out the crack in the curtains – off out into the lit-up streets along the lake's shore. "He still treats it like he did me some big favor by not telling our dad."

"Not telling your dad what?" she took the chance that he might want to place a label on it that day. But instead he cast her a warning look. She arched her eyebrow at him. "Are we going to talk around this again?" she put to him. His stare only intensified. She gave him a little sigh and a little head shake but allowed him some privacy, settling back onto him and staring through the crack in the blinds too. "Saying it might help," she muttered. "Owning it."

"I do own it …" he said quietly. "Every fucking day …"

"And you're my fiancée, you're going to be my husband … my partner, my best friend. I'd like a chance to own part of it too," she told the window.

"You don't need to," he said with a small tremor in his own. "It's my thing."

Erin lifted her head again and gazed at him. "It doesn't have to be just your thing," she said. "I can help you carry some of this. You just have to ask. You have to talk to me. Let me help." He made that noise again and shifted his eyes to look beyond her. She stroked his cheek again, but that time grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilted his head to force his eyes back to her. "I've told you the good, the bad and the ugly."

"Erin, I don't want to talk about it," he said with some force. "I don't need to."

"If you don't need to, why are we talking about it? Why'd what Will said upset you?" she put back to him.

"Because he still doesn't get it," Jay spat again with anger and this time didn't calm with the shock of the statement coming out. "Because he still thinks it's a favor not telling Dad. Because he still thinks Dad would've had reason to disown me. Because he still acts like I fucking wanted it."

Erin gazed at him, her eyes glassing with the force of his statement and the underlying truth that was there. The closest they'd gotten to him having a real conversation that amounted to more than a passing sentence that he barely wanted acknowledged.

She shook her head and stroked his cheek again. "You didn't want it," she assured him. "You didn't ask for it. You were still just a kid. And it wasn't your fault."

"I know …," he muttered but his voice sounded so empty.

She ran her thumb across his cheek again. "Do you?"

Jay's eyes flickered with that. Sadness, hurt and pain mingling there. "Yea …," he allowed.

She didn't believe him. But she also wasn't sure he'd ever believe her. Or anyone else. No matter how many times it was said to him. What therapy he got – if he ever decided to get it at this point in his. He was always going to hold himself accountable. That he'd opened himself up to it. That he hadn't fought it off. That he'd let it happen. When she didn't even need to know the whole story to know that none of that was true.

"You know …," she finally said, after gazing at him and trying to find the words. The right ones. The ones that wouldn't make him recoil or shutdown. "… when I went to live with Hank and Camille … and some of the stuff I'd been through … done … seeing a therapist … it was just part of the deal. And it wasn't so bad."

He made a snorting sound and found her eyes with some amusement that almost hurt. "Did it really help?"

The hurt really did hit her but she forced herself to take it for what it was. To keep it in the context that she knew – that Jay could lash out and be rude and mean in the moments he felt vulnerable. It was part of his M.O.. And it was just another way he coped. One he'd implemented as a teenager – and one that he still used now as an adult man.

"It gave me someone removed from the situation to talk to and helped me learn to think about it all differently," she put back to him flatly.

He made another noise – that same one – and gazed at the ceiling.

"Do you still …," he started and then stopped for a long time before continuing. "Do I still make you uncomfortable during sex?"

She gave him a thin smile and shook her head, reaching to trail her hand through his short-cropped hair. "No," she assured him. "Because we've talked. I understand more now."

She could read between the lines to understand why he didn't like certain touches. Why he didn't like certain positions. Why he didn't want to be touched or kissed certain places. Why he didn't want to try certain things. And she was accepting of that – just like he was accepting of her quirks and boundaries. It was part of their relationship. And it just was what it was. The good, the bad and the ugly. Good days and bad days. Good lays and bad lays.

"Do I still …?" he asked and reached to run his thumb along her jugular. "I've been trying … not to."

"I know," she allowed, as his hand fell away. "I can tell. And I'd tell you if you were touching me in a way I was uncomfortable with."

He made the distant sound again. So she took her turn to rub her thumb along his jawline.

"You're a good lover, Jay," she assured. "And I can tell when you're struggling. And that's OK too. It's allowed. I don't need you to be fucking Casanova every time. I like Jay just fine."

His hand went up to his forehead again, pushing at the stray hair strands that were no longer there. She gently moved his hand away, getting him to put his restless arm down. Trailing her fingers through his hair, her nails massaging along his scalp again.

"Sometimes I don't feel like I know what I'm fucking doing," he said, gazing at her. "That I'm doing it wrong. Some kind of fraud."

"No one knows what they're fucking doing," she said. "If it feels good to both of us, we're doing fine."

He allowed a thin smile and a quiet amused sound. But the smiled faded.

"Sometimes I think it … really fucked me up," he finally allowed apologetically.

She nodded and settled back against his chest, his arm gripping at her tightly – protectively.

"It did," she acknowledged. Because that was the truth of it. "But you're still worthy and loveable. And a good man." She rubbed her cheek against him. She could hear his heart racing. "It doesn't make me think less of you, Jay," she offered. "As awful and as unfair as it was that that happened to you, it also helped mould you into the man I love today."

That sound came out of him again. But that time she didn't need to look up to know he was nearing tears. She could feel it in his chest. But that just made her hold him tighter too. Because he was someone she never wanted to let go. Even if he could never let go of his baggage. She'd just help him carry it – as much as he allowed.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: So I'm not likely going to do the Will/Jay chapter at this point. You probably get the general gist. I'm also not likely going to do a Platt/Hank/Ethan chapter in the hospital at this point either — because you likely got the general gist of that too in the last chapter.**

 **The next several chapters will likely be around the kids and around the lead up to Christmas. Not sure how that's going to work, as I'm not going to have a lot of time to write between now and the New Year and my interest in writing Christmas-y chapters will likely fade as we get past the holiday season.**

 **Honestly, with how CPD is going this season, my interest might fade a lot in the stories in general. Though, at this point I'm less interested in trying to keep up with the cannon of the series, as I feel like they kind of jumped off the rails a bit in plot holes and unresolved storylines and weird logic errors. I'm also really going to miss the patrol stories.**

 **Haven't gotten many reviews lately. Your readership, reviews and comments are much appreciated.**


	18. Caveats

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin watched Ethan tremoring as he attempted to get his food to his mouth. It was hard to watch. He was shaking so much most of the food wasn't even staying on the fork.

She cast Jay a look as her little brother's knife chattered against his plate in his attempt to cut his chicken. He met her eyes and shifted them back to Eth. He'd been watching too. They'd both been watching so much that they'd hardly spoken at the table. That might be the way Hank preferred to eat dinner but it wasn't their usual routine.

Though, their usual routine wasn't to actually sit at the table. More often than not, they ate dinner at their desks or stopped to get a quick bite on the way home. But it was apparent that that was going to have to stop – or at least be significantly cut back on – now that they were going to be homeowners. Or at least mortgage owners – or a mortgage slightly more significant than what she'd been dealing with on her condo over the past few years. And definitely more significant than the rent on Jay's apartment.

Still, even in their slow adjustment to that reality, they'd mostly ended up in front of the TV than sitting at her small dinner table. But with the way Eth was throwing his food around that night, she knew she'd made the right choice getting them seated at the table for the meal.

"You need some help with that," Jay offered.

They'd both refrained to make the usual offer – but one that Hank was usually the one managing. Though, he usually didn't put it forward as an offer. He just wordlessly took Ethan's plate and cut up the food into more manageable pieces. Or he brought it out to the table already pre-cut.

But Jay and Erin knew Ethan hated admitting defeat about anything. However, he particularly hated admitting it when it came to needing his food cut up - like he was some kind of toddler.

It was worse that night for them to be making any kind of offer – or even attempting any kind of dinner-table conversation.

They'd had their heads bit off and been snarked at multiple times since he'd gotten in the door. He was in a mood. But Ethan was nearly always in a mood since Justin's death. She supposed they all were. His mood was even worse after his first week back to school, though.

But Erin hadn't exactly had the best or easiest week at work either. No week at work seemed particularly good anymore. Not when she had to see Hank there every day. Had to balance what they were going through with the grind of the job. The kind of cases they had to work. And that week they'd been on some doozies. So she just wasn't in the mood for any of her little brother's lip. She didn't care that he was a teenager and now seemed to consider himself some sort of attitude specialist. She didn't particularly care that he was tired and hurting – on so many fucking levels. Because she knew he would be. For a long time. They all would be. But it didn't mean she had to be treated like she was fucking brain-dead. Stupid big sister.

She didn't have time for it. She didn't care to deal with it. So she'd shot some snark right back at him. It'd shut him up. But it wasn't exactly making for the nicest evening.

She was kind of regretting that they'd offered to have him over for the night. They should've known he'd be in a shitty mood after his first week of school. They should've just waited to get back into their part of his routine until his first full week back. They shouldn't have bothered to take him on the first Friday. It was likely proving to be a better break and change of scenery for Hank than it was for Ethan. And that wasn't really the point of the exercises. At least in her opinion. But she'd – they'd – had some things they wanted to talk to him about, so they'd brought him over.

Though, she was starting to second-guess if she even wanted to broach any of it with him that night. He clearly wasn't in the headspace for it. And the headspace he was in was making her feel less like she wanted to do anything nice for him. Even if he was just being a moody, traumatized, grieving kid. And she couldn't really hold that against him. But she could likely feed him some line about how he might not be able to control how he feels but he sure as hell could control how he reacted to and dealt with things. And he definitely wasn't doing a very good job of that. Though, none of them were. So if the adults weren't, how could she really expect a thirteen-year-old kid to?

"I'm not hungry anyway," Ethan said, though, and pushed his plate away.

Erin glared at him and reached from her spot and pushed it back to sit in front of him. "You're eating your dinner," she told him purposely.

He glared right back. "I'm not hungry," he spat.

"Ethan," she said firmly. "You look like shit. You're eating your dinner."

"What's that mean?" he spat even harder.

She cocked her eyebrow at him. "You're pale. You look gaunt."

"I'm sick," he glared.

She shook her head. "You aren't sick. You have M.S.—"

"That's sick," he argued.

"Nope," she shook her head. "It's a disease and it means you need to be eating better and healthier than the rest of us. So eat your dinner," she ordered.

She reached to pick up his knife and used her fork to cut about a third of the chicken breast into more manageable pieces. She'd be happy if he ate that much. She pushed the plate back in front of him again.

"Do you want a spoon for the rice?" she asked, as she did.

He glared at her. But she just got up from the table and went back to the kitchen, pulling open the drawer, retrieving what she was looking for and returning to the table, setting it next to him. He glanced at it but sat back in the chair, crossing his arms.

She shrugged as she took her seat again. "Guess if you don't feel like eating, you don't really feel like doing anything else tonight," she said and looked back to her plate. "We'll drive you home after we're done eating."

His glare shifted to her. "That's not fair," he argued.

She shrugged. "Life's not fair," she said and gave him a firmer look. "You need to eat. Eat. We can have a nice evening. Or sit there, sulk and you can go home. Because we don't have to put up with the attitude, Ethan."

"Fine," he said, crossing his arms, tighter. "Take me home."

"OK," she shrugged. "When we're done eating our meal."

She exchanged a look with Jay and she moved her eyes back to her plate. He didn't look like he particularly approved of her method. But she didn't feel like playing games with Ethan. Or maybe she was playing a game, because she was hedging her bet on the fact that he'd prefer to spend his night with them than at home – and after his teen-aged mind processed that a bit, she was pretty sure that meant he'd do as he'd been told. Ethan was only so confrontational and anti-authority. Not that he saw her as much of an authority.

And she was right. She'd bet accordingly. Because after they'd sat eating in silence – tension filling the air for several long minutes – he awkwardly picked up the spoon and worked at trying to get the rice onto it.

Hank had some heavier weighted flatware at his house that had been recommended by the physical therapist. Ethan seemed to be able to manage the slightly larger and heavier utensils on the day his tremors were particularly bad. The flatware had cost a small fortune for just the single set but Erin knew she was going to have to break down and buy her own set for the condo – the townhouse – if Eth was going to be spending more time with them now. Rather than them being over there, which seemed to be the plan. She was willing to help with Ethan. She wasn't willing to take up space at Hank and Camille's house to do that. Not yet. It didn't feel right. At all.

She rubbed at her eyebrow as she watched his struggle with the spoon. "Has your dad talked to you about going back on the tremor medication?"

Ethan glanced at her. "You called him your dad again," he informed her.

She raised any eyebrow. She wasn't having that conversation with him again. They'd had it on repeat. But she wasn't going to start calling Hank anything else but that to Ethan. Again, not yet. "That wasn't the answer to my question," she said.

His let out a loud exhale and looked back to his plate. "I don't like that medicine. It makes me tired."

"You're acting pretty tired right now," she told him. His eyes glared at her again. "It stops your shaking," she provided.

"It doesn't stop it," he mouthed and finally managed to get the rice in his mouth.

"It makes it a lot more manageable than what you're dealing with right now," she said.

He glanced at her from his chewing and provided comment.

"Do you know if your dad has talked to your doctor about it?" she asked, looking back to her plate.

Ethan shrugged. "He said to talk to the neurologist about it."

"So when's that happening?" she pressed.

Ethan gave her a weaker look. This one slightly more timid and a little scared. "I have to go for my MRIs before I see him."

"So when's that?" she put to him again.

"Next week," he said a bit more quietly and gazed at her. "Are you coming?"

She let out a little sigh at that and cast Jay another look. His eyes meeting hers. His answer clear. And her answer would've been just as clear if things were different. But that wasn't how things were. Not anymore. Hank hadn't told her that Ethan's follow-up appointments were coming up. So she assumed that meant she wasn't invited.

"I'll have to talk to your dad about that," she said.

"Why?" Ethan pressed at her. "I'm asking you to come. I want you to come."

She gave him a stern look. "Because we work in the same unit, Ethan," she said. "Because it's hard for us both to take time off at the same time. You know that."

It was a near lie. They could figure it out. If they needed to or wanted to.

But the reality was that she likely wasn't wanted there. Hank had always kept decisions about Ethan's health close to his chest. She'd only been allowed to have so much involvement – at least in the decision-making aspect of it all. But she'd usually at least been given a heads up about appointments. She hadn't this time, and maybe that was telling.

Though, she supposed she'd known that Ethan's follow-ups with the pediatric neurologist were scheduled for September. She just hadn't realized that the follow-up testing before the appointments was scheduled for now.

And it made her wonder how much she'd be told about the results. From Hank. Or if she'd just hear the version that Ethan understood out of the appointments. What he wanted to believe or exclude. Or what he'd managed to wrap his head around.

If she'd get to know if her baby brother had developed any new lesions or plaques. If they were in his brain or in his spine. What their locations meant. If it looked like he was in the midst of another exasperation with all the stress his body was under. If this increased tremoring meant anything. If it looked liked the medical trail they'd put him through in the winter was working. If it'd slowed down the progression. If he was going to have to go through another round of chemo. And, if he did, when? Where they going to switch up any of his drugs. Could the tremor medication be added.

She had lots of questions. Lots of answers she wanted. But she might be excluded from all of that. More than usual.

She hadn't even been told about the upcoming MRI. She hadn't been invited.

She likely wasn't wanted there. Not by Hank.

But maybe what he wanted didn't matter. Not when it came to Ethan. It didn't matter that he was Hank's son. He was her baby brother. And he was all she had left of the family she'd once known too. And even with him, it wasn't the same. It never would be.

"Then maybe you shouldn't work together," Ethan suggested harshly.

And maybe he was right. Maybe they shouldn't. Maybe she really didn't want to work with him – under him anymore. But right now, anyone moving would just draw more unwanted attention. And she didn't want that. It would only make things worse.

Maybe Hank should've taken the fucking promotion before all this had happened. Maybe then things would've been different. But it was more likely that Hank would be in jail by now if that was the case.

Maybe her or Jay should've put in for the transfer before all this had happened. Like they were supposed to. Like they'd been talking about. Like they'd decided would be best. For Jay to go. For her to stay. Even though it'd be a hard adjustment.

Now it would be an adjustment she'd happily make herself. But instead they were in a stalemate with both of them staying put while the chips finished settling. And then maybe after that, one of them could escape. Maybe both of them would.

Or maybe Jay would again fall on the stake for her. He'd let her put in for the transfer first so she could get the hell out of there. That he'd wait around for another year or two for things to not look so suspicious before he made his move. Still stay embroiled in the fucking shit show that their so-called unit had become.

But where she'd fucking go? That was a different story. Because if she was "Hank's girl" before, she knew that the talk and rumors and reputations would stick to her even more. They'd follow her. And who'd want her? For the right reasons? Who'd let her do the work – the job – she actually wanted to do?

So now they were all just in a waiting game. A game of pretend. Where all of Intelligence was trying to act like they were getting back to some sort of normal. Like nothing unusual – out of the ordinary – had really happened in them. Meanwhile, they were all taking their turn being called into HQ to be debriefed. All calling their union reps and the union lawyers to sit with them while they answered questions by not answering questions. While they all dug fucking holes for their careers that she didn't know how any of them would really get out of.

Because it wasn't just her who was "Hank's girl" anymore. They were the unit that worked for Hank Voight. That was going to follow them all. Any supervisor looking at their transfer requests would see that. It'd be attached to them for the rest of their careers with the CPD. And it would always lead back to questions and stories about who Hank Voight was and what he was capable of and just how any of them had fit into all of that. What kind of blind eyes they'd turned. What kind of cops they really were.

What kind of people they were.

And sometimes Erin just didn't feel like she knew anymore. And the game of pretend they were all playing right now seemed to make it even less clear anymore. Because they were all just getting back into routine. They were all just trying to do their jobs. But on certain days – on certain cases – doing the job seemed harder now than before. In a different way.

And sometimes – more than sometimes – it was hard to take any sort of order or command from Hank.

But they were all doing it. Because it was part of the job. Whatever that was or whatever it meant anymore.

"Well, maybe we won't be working together that much longer," Erin mumbled and she felt Jay's eyes set on her again. And Ethan's.

"Really?" he asked.

She shrugged and gave her head a little shake. "One of us is supposed to be transferring out anyway when we get married," she said flatly.

Her brother gazed at her. "So you're still getting married?"

She rolled her eyes at him and gave him a gentle kick under the table. "No. We're just buying a house because we want to get into property investment." Ethan squinted at her in confusion. "Yes. We're still getting married," she confirmed.

"When?" he demanded.

She let out a sigh and looked over to Jay. He nodded across the table at Eth. "Depends on how we do it, bud," he said. Ethan squinted in even more confusion at him. "At this point, we might just do the paperwork. Not make a big deal out of it. No party."

Ethan sat back in his chair again, slowly processing that. "Because Justin's dead or because you're mad at Dad?" he put to Erin.

She gave him a frown. "Because we don't feel much like having a big party right now, Ethan," she said. "I don't think any of us do."

Ethan traced a finger on his right hand around the plate edge closest to him. "Maybe it'd be something happy," he said quietly. "That Olivia and Henry would come home for. And Dad would like it. And Uncle Alvin would come and Aunt Trudy and Randy and stuff."

Erin frowned deeper and leaned across the table, giving his bicep and little squeeze, running her hand down to pat at his tremoring hand that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide the shaking with its grip around his arm.

"We don't feel much like having a party right now," she said. "And rather than spend the money on all kinds of wedding stuff, we'd like to put focus on the move and the house."

Her brother gave her a little glance from his downcast gaze. "Will I be allowed to sleepover after you move in?"

She nodded and sat back in her chair. "If you aren't going to be this grouchy every time you come over, yeah," she told him with a real seriousness.

He just stared at her. There was some apology to his gaze, though. And she accepted it.

"Our agent is going to try to get us in to do some measurements in the next week or so," Jay provided. "We'll see if you can tag along so you can check the place out too."

Ethan's eyes shifted over to Jay. "I get my own room there, right?"

Jay shook his head. "No," he corrected. "You get to use a bedroom. Your room is at your dad's house."

Ethan made a little sound and gazed at the table again. Jay cast her another look and then leaned forward a bit to try to catch Ethan's eyes. "How are things going with you and your dad? How you doing?"

But Ethan just shrugged and worked at slowly rotating his plate again. "OK, I guess."

"Yea. You're getting along?" Jay pressed.

Ethan cast him a look and then darted his eyes to Erin. "Well, I don't hate him like you."

"I don't hate him, Ethan," Erin said. "Our feelings about everything that happened are just complicated right now."

"Well, mine are too. But I still talk to him," Ethan argued.

"Me and your dad are talking," Erin allowed.

Ethan let out a little sigh and gazed at his plate again, his shoulders slumping even more.

"You guys got any plans this weekend?" Jay tried.

Her brother shrugged. "We're going to the game tomorrow. Then he'll likely just make me do homework and chores all weekend."

"That the last of your game tickets?" Erin asked, in an attempt to be interested. Ethan didn't seem that interested or excited either. Which was also telling since he was all about the Cubs.

But some of the fervor had died a little bit that summer – along with his brother. They were supposed to go to a game as a family the day Justin had died. Henry's first game. Ethan had been excited about that. But it hadn't happened. And he'd seemed less interested in attending any of the games he had tickets for after that. Erin knew that Hank had given a pair away in the bullpen. He'd tried to give the to Antonio to take Diego but he'd pretty much refused to accept them, keeping his hands buried under his arms and his body language stiff. He'd then tried to give them to Erin and Jay but she also wasn't at the point she was willing to accept any niceties from him. It'd ultimately been Al who'd taken them. She wasn't sure if he'd actually gone – taken Lexi or Michelle or given them to the girls to take their boyfriends. She suspected it was more likely he'd just accepted the tickets to try to make Hank feel a little bit better about the situation.

"Yea," Ethan acknowledged. "They're likely going to go to the playoffs, though. And since we have the Cubs Club, we'll get like … fourth or fifth crack at the tickets. But Dad says they'll be expensive so I shouldn't buy the Xbox if I want to go to any of the games."

"Mmm …," Erin allowed.

But that was another bluff she'd likely call. She was pretty sure if the Cubs made the playoffs, and there were still tickets available in a non-astronomical price-range by the time it got to be the Cub Club members who had a chance at them before the general public, that Hank would be in line attempting to get them for his son. It wasn't every year that the Cubs made the playoffs. Let alone a year where it looked like they might have a shot at making it all the way to the World Series. But you never know in baseball. Things could take a turn and start to slide pretty quickly. It was a tight race that year.

"I asked Dad if we could get Cubs Club again for next year," Ethan muttered quietly. "But he said it was really expensive and he only got it because thirteen is a special birthday. So he said he probably wouldn't consider it again until like sixteen or eighteen or twenty-one. Not unless I wanted to save up and help play. Even then I could likely only afford to get the three-pack by the time they go on sale. But then he said that maybe he'd consider it as a graduation present, if I do really good this year. But that pretty much sounded like a bribe and I won't do really good anyway."

"Ethan, don't talk like that," Erin sighed at him.

He gave her a sad look. "I hate school," he said.

"It's only the first week," she told him. "The first week is hard for everyone."

"No, it's not," Ethan said and started at his plate. "All the classes are really hard."

Erin put down her fork and looked at him. "Well, Eth, starting next week, your dad is going to have you back into your tutoring and we're going to get back into routine so me and Jay and your dad are all going to take terms helping you with homework and the different subjects."

He gave her a little glance. "I don't have any friends now. It's all littler kids in my Special Ed time and everyone from Robotics is in high school now. Even Max. And he didn't even want to hang out in Quad before school either."

"You thought anymore about joining one of the clubs or teams at school or the Rehab Center?" Jay tried. "Good way to meet some new people."

Ethan glanced in his direction. "I think Dad wants me to play hockey."

"What do you want to do?" Erin asked more pointedly.

His eyes shifted to her and stared for a long beat. But then he just shrugged. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess."

"What about basketball with Eva?" she pressed. "You were talking about that on the weekend."

"They do it in wheelchairs. I don't think I want to play a wheelchair sport," he muttered.

"Maybe you should go out to a game or a practice and see what it's all about," Jay suggested.

His eyes glanced that way but he only shrugged.

"Ethan," Erin stressed firmly, "I really think you should pick something to do."

"I can always just go to the boxing gym, if Dad isn't going to let me go home after school," he muttered.

"I thought you told your dad you don't like being in the house alone," she said. He gave her some side-eye but didn't reply. That was enough of a confirmation. "I don't think going to the boxing gym is the best idea right now."

"Why not?" he asked.

Because she didn't think that Hank and Antonio were on the best terms right now. They'd been on the periphery of each other's moral boundaries before. But right now it was different. Very different. Antonio was clearly just tolerating Hank was a professional courtesy. And Erin didn't know how all that was going to play out. She could only imagine the kind of offers and bribes and arm-twisting that the Ivory Tower – and IA – had put in front of him.

She didn't think that Dawson would say or do anything to directly harm Ethan if he were to show up at the boxing gym again. If he started attending Junior League on a regular basis again. But she also didn't think it would be a comfortable situation. That it would just make things awkward and more complicated. That it was likely best to leave well-enough alone. Boxing hadn't really been Ethan's thing anyways. And, unfortunately, with some of the rough-and-tumble kids of questionable backgrounds that ended up in Junior League, Erin wasn't so sure it was the best place for him right now anyway.

She knew that she was one of those kids. She knew that Michelle was one of those kids. She knew that Antonio had been one of those kids. And that Hank had been in his own way. And that Atwater was too. And maybe even Jay, in a different way. That it could've really been any of them. But the thing was Ethan wasn't any of them.

And he was her little brother. And she could see the way he was starting to spin. The direction of some of his thoughts. Some of the influences he might fall under these days. Some of the outlets he might find. And she'd seen what that had done to Justin. She knew what it'd done to her. And she also knew that if you didn't have someone there pulling you out it could go sideways. Badly.

They didn't need any of this to go more sideways than it already was. They didn't need to risk it.

So, as good as Junior League was for some kids, as helpful as it'd been with Ethan at the start – right now, she just didn't think it was the place for him. And she thought Antonio would be just as happy she felt that way.

"Because you should be doing something you enjoy with your time," she provided, though. "Something productive."

"Boxing is productive," Eth argued.

"Ethan, pick one of the Rehab Center's sports. Or a club at school. Please," she put firmly. "Because if you don't pick something soon, your dad will be filling your time after school. And, trust me, you won't like the way he fills it."

Ethan just sighed and went back to gazing at the table. "Why can't I sleepover here tonight?" he asked quietly.

"Because you don't like sleeping over here," Erin put back to him.

He glanced at her. "I don't like sleeping at home either."

That hurt her too. Because she knew how much Eth had loved his home. How much he'd wanted to be home. Before. How much he wanted them all to get home – to get home – in the days after Justin died. But now? It'd become just as foreign to him as the rest of them.

And that might be OK for her. She was an adult. She had her own home. And in all this she was learning that it wasn't the fucking condo that was home. Jay was home. Being with him. That was what she needed for her stability. For her sanity. For her to feel comfortable. For her to feel like she was home. It didn't matter if it was in the condo. It didn't matter what neighborhood the townhouse was in. It didn't matter how many floors or bedrooms the townhouse had. Or that it wasn't exactly what she'd hoped for when they'd started looking almost six months ago. What mattered was that she'd be there – with Jay. And that would make it home. The rest of it? It was just walls. It was just protection from the elements. It was just logistics. It wasn't what made the place.

And that worked for her. It was OK for her. But it wasn't for Ethan.

He was still a kid. He needed a place to go to that still felt like home. A space that was his. A place he felt safe and comfortable and stable. Not just because of the structure and the roof over his head. But because of the people. He needed that love and security too. He deserved it. But he also just as clearly wasn't getting entirely what he needed from Hank anymore. Not right now. And he likely wasn't from her either.

"We'll have the house soon," she assured, because it was about the best assurance she could offer right now. "We'll work out a schedule for you sleeping over."

"Like visitation and custody," Ethan muttered.

"No," Jay corrected, "like you're welcome over whenever you want. Just let us know you're coming by."

Ethan glanced up at him. "Do I get a key?" he asked.

Jay gave Erin a look and raised an eyebrow at her. "We hadn't really talked about that," he admitted.

"We'll give you a key," Erin allowed. They hadn't talked about it. Maybe it wasn't the best idea. But it was the answer Ethan needed to hear in that moment. And they could work out the rules about him using the key later. When they gave it to him.

"Hey …," Jay tried to lighten the subject. "Have you decided what activity coupon you're going to use this month?"

But Ethan only shrugged again. "Not really. Maybe nothing."

"Maybe nothing?" Jay put back to him. "C'mon. There's still a lot of stuff to get through between now and your next birthday."

"I don't really feel like doing anything," Ethan said.

"What about paintball?" Jay suggested. "September would be a great month for that. Great weather. Likely less busy than the summer." But Eth only shrugged. He gave her a glance. "What about that one in Lake Geneva you wanted to go to? Could make a weekend out of it?"

Just a couple months go that would've gotten an enthusiastic reaction out of Eth. He would've been on the website picking his mission. He would've been calling his dad to get the name of the resort they'd stayed at. Jay would've been on AirBnB trying to find something cheaper. They would've likely been packed in the car and headed out there their next weekend they were both booked off. If not the absolutely next weekend – no matter what their schedules were.

But now? Ethan just shrugged. "Grade Eight has a lot of homework," he said glumly.

"You can't just spend all your time studying and doing homework, Eth," Jay said. "You'll just drag yourself down and make yourself crazy."

But again it was just another shrug.

Erin let out her own sigh and eyed Jay that time. They'd talked about this and they weren't sure they were going to present this tonight. She'd been really unsure she was going to present it tonight with how Ethan was acting. At least when he walked in the door. Now she was just accepting he was tired and he was sad. And he was still struggling to come to terms with the entire situation. It was likely going to be a lifelong struggle. It was going to be one that they all took a whole lot of one-step forward and two-steps back on.

So they might as well do this now. It might be a step forward from where they were at the moment.

Jay seemed to understand from her look. So she leaned forward a bit to catch her brother's eyes again.

"Me and Jay have been talking and we think we might've come up with something that might make getting through this year a bit easier," she said.

Ethan gave her a look. "Unless it's you and Dad getting along again or you knowing how to get Olivia and Henry to come back so Dad feels happier again, I don't think it's going to make anything better," he said.

She frowned at him. "I said easier, not better."

"Same thing …," he mumbled.

She cast Jay another look, sitting back straight and again weighing if she should continue or just drop this for now. Leave it for another time. Or completely cast it aside. But Jay's eyes said to just do it. Get it over with. See how it went over. Or if it was a complete lead balloon.

"We've actually been talking a bit about your graduation present too," she tried.

"Bribe," Ethan said flatly, that time without looking at her at all.

"Yea, a little," Jay admitted and that did earn a look. Ethan seemed to be looking him in the eye a lot more than her that night. She wasn't sure what to make of that. And she wasn't sure how she felt about that. But she supposed at least it meant that Eth was connecting with someone. They needed that.

"We were thinking about maybe taking a trip for your graduation," she said and Ethan moved his eyes to her, examining her carefully.

"Where?" he asked.

Erin shrugged. "We were thinking maybe you'd want to go down to Florida and do some of those parks and rides like Max did this summer," she offered.

Ethan examined her carefully. His gears were visibly churning. "Is Dad invited?" he finally asked.

Erin let out a slow breath and gave her head a little shake. "That's something we could talk about closer to the time. But we were thinking that it might be nice for just the three of us to go."

Because she couldn't see herself wanting to be around Hank even ten months from now. And she doubted it would be Hank's kind of destination anyway. It wasn't really hers either. Or Jay's. But it wasn't about them. It was just trying to desperately find something to cheer Ethan up. Trying to find something for him to look forward to. Something for him to cling to. To work toward. Anything.

"What if I don't want to go there?" Ethan finally asked.

Erin made a sound of frustration. But Jay cut her off before she could say something she regretted to him. "Where would you like to go?" he asked instead.

Ethan shrugged. "Spring training."

Jay allowed a little nod. "That could definitely be a lot of fun, bud. But you won't have graduated yet and this would be a graduation present."

"We could go on spring break," Ethan suggested flatly. "An early graduation present."

Jay gave his head a little shake. "Don't think that's the way we want to work it," he provided. "Because we've got some caveats to what needs to happen for this trip to take place."

"What's a caveat?" Ethan squinted with some accusation.

"Stipulations," Jay clarified. "Things that need to happen for the trip to happen."

"More bribes," Ethan accused.

"Goalposts for if you want to win the prize," he said.

Ethan shrugged and slouched back into his chair. "I don't really want to go that much."

"OK," Jay allowed on her behalf when she was again thinking of calling it off because she didn't want to negotiate with him in spoiled brat mode. She needed to again take a breath and remind herself that Ethan was spoiled. He wasn't a brat. He was just a hurting and angry kid. She knew what that was like. She needed to remember that. She needed to not let her own anger and hurt keep her from losing sight of that. "So, again, where do you want to go? That we can go to after you graduate. Not before."

"Maybe I don't really want to go anywhere that much," Ethan said flatly.

Erin sat forward and caught his eyes. "Isn't there some dinosaur dig you've been begging you dad to go on since you were in diapers?"

His eyes shot to her. She could see the excitement there but then it faded and he shook his head. "I'm doing that with Daddy," he said quietly. "He'll take me some day. I know he will."

He didn't sound like he believed it. Erin wasn't sure she did either. But she wasn't going to argue about it.

So she sighed and looked at Jay with a shrug. But he wasn't going to accept defeat apparently and sat forward a bit, slumping his elbows onto the table until he had a line of sight with Ethan.

"You know," he said, "we go down South, we don't have to just do the parks. Lots of beaches. Deep sea fishing." Ethan's eyes flickered a bit at that and he caught Jay's for a moment. "The space center is there too. Daytona."

Ethan let out a little noise and gazed at the edge of the table again, trying to ignore the proposition.

"I don't know, Eth," Jay allowed, sitting up straighter. "Pretty sure we could fill a week pretty easily down there. And the parks? Maybe a little tacky. But there's Star Wars rides, Guardians of the Galaxy. Jurassic Park. Harry Potter. Transformers. I'm a little jaded and I still think hitting a park or two wouldn't be a bad way to put in a day or two."

Ethan gazed at him and then cast her a long look. She held his eyes but didn't say anything. She let him direct the conversation – and who spoke – because maybe that's what he needed right now. Some control. Some say.

Maybe he hadn't been getting enough of that. Maybe he'd never had much of that at all.

"What are the caveats?" he asked quietly.

Erin gave a little shrug. "We're going to tell you the budget and you're going to help us research and plan the trip – in that budget," she stressed. "And plan the route to drive down there."

"Driving?" Ethan asked.

"Not made of money, Ethan," she said flatly. "Flying is expensive. Wouldn't you rather spend the money doing things when we get there?"

"How long does it take to drive there?" he asked.

But she only shrugged at him. "Guess figuring out that can be one of your first steps in the travel planning."

He eyed her. He was skeptical. She could tell. "That's all? Help plan?"

She shook her head. "No," she allowed and he let out a sigh and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. She resisted the urge to lean forward to get into his space. "We want you to do well too this year, Ethan. We want you to do the best you can and we want you to do it without giving us or your dad or your teachers or aides or therapists or tutors this fucking attitude." He huffed at her. But she just kept going. "And we want you to join something. We don't care what. But we want you to have at least one activity going on all the time. So you need something for this fall, the winter and the spring. If that's one thing and something each season. That's up to you."

He cast her a dirty look. "Is that all?" he hissed.

"No," she shook her head again. "We're also going to start a book club."

"A book club?" he gaped at her.

She nodded. "I want you reading one book – on your own each month between now and your graduation."

"I read with Dad," Ethan said.

She shrugged. "I know," she acknowledged. "But I want to – we want to – read the Harry Potter series with you."

He made a disgusted face. "I'm too old for Harry Potter. That's for kids."

"You are a kid, Ethan," she pressed at him. "I know you might not feel like it right now. That you don't feel like the other kids around you. But you're still just a kid. And we want to held you remember that you're a kid for the little bit of childhood you have left."

He huffed at her and turned his head to gaze out her picture windows – off toward Lake Michigan. Somewhere in the dark.

"So we're going to work on reading a book a month," she said. "And as a reward, when we finish each book, we're going to have a take-out and movie night at the townhouse. We'll watch the Harry Potter movie and see how it compares to the book. And then we can watch whatever movie you want after that. Have a sleep over."

He just kept gazing out the window.

"How's that sound?" she finally asked when it was apparent he wasn't going to answer.

"Stupid," he replied.

She let out a slow breath. "OK," she acknowledged. "Well, it's the terms of the deal we're willing to strike."

"I don't want to read Harry Potter," he argued. "I'll read Hunger Games or something."

Erin shrugged. "OK," she allowed. "We could talk about pick some other books. But I thought you might like Harry Potter."

"I'm too old for Harry Potter," he stressed more firmly.

She nodded. "OK," she allowed again. "But the characters in the stories are around your age. I read Harry Potter when I was around your age. And Justin did too. And, Ethan, it was something your mom wanted you to read too. To share with you."

"You don't know what," he muttered.

She leaned forward into his space. "Yea, Ethan, I do," she pressed at him. "And, if you don't want to believe me on that, you can ask your dad."

"Stop calling him 'your dad'," he spat.

She shook her head at him and sat up straight, crossing her arms as she eyed him.

Some days she could connect with him. Some days she couldn't. And some days she just didn't have the first clue what to say to him anymore. How to be there for him. What he needed. And how to save him from himself. From all of this. From all he'd been through.

"Well, those are the terms of our proposal," Erin said. "You let us know when you decide if you're ready to accept or reject it."

"I REJECT IT," Ethan yelled so firmly that it surprised her. She was about to snap at him about it but he was already pushing himself up from the table – to his weak and wobbly legs that swayed under him. "It's stupid! And it's stupid to plan something like a year in advance! You could be dead in a year! I could be dead in a year!"

She blinked at him. "Ethan, don't talk like that," she managed to get out.

"It's true. You could be. I could be. Jay could be. We all could be. Dad!" he rambled at a million miles an hour.

"Ethan, no one is going to be dead in a year," she pushed back at him.

"You don't know that!" he argued. "Justin didn't think he'd be dead now either. None of us thought he would be. And he's dead. Mom's dead. And you all go to work with fucking crazy people with guns too. You arrest bad people all the time! People shooting at you all the time! You have guns! You wear vests! You've all been hurt!"

"Ethan …" she sighed pleadingly.

"You don't know!" he yelled again.

"Ethan—" Jay tried to interrupt. "We're all—"

"YOU DON'T KNOW!" he yelled louder. "I reject your stupid deal! Because you don't know! You don't know shit! And I want to go home!"

And he stormed toward the door as fast as he could manage on his tired legs, leaving her and Jay sitting there staring at each other. Her feeling like she'd fucked it up again. Like this was still spinning out of her control. Like her baby brother was spinning out of control and she couldn't get him to stabilize. As soon as she thought she was getting a handle on him – on all of this – that she was starting to stack the pieces into place, to get things into an order that made sense, it just spun out again. It blew up in her face.

But this blow up? It stung. Hard.

Dead. 'I could be dead.' It rung in her ears. It struck to her heart. It caused a lump in her throat to grow to the point she nearly gagged.

And she knew how Hank felt a week ago as Ethan wished he were dead. As he shuttled Ethan in front of Dr. Charles and in front of his therapist and near begged her to come to Omaha. Because right now – for the first time in weeks – she actually wanted to Hank. She needed to talk to Hank.

Because this wasn't alright.

They needed to fix this.

Not for them. For Ethan.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Pretty sure a lot of people missed the Chapter entitled Great Escape. The readership on Elephants is also really oddly low.**

 **A mild M chapter with Jay/Erin will go before this, set after Bookends.**

 **Still will have a Jay/Will chapter before Bookends too.**

 **Haven't had time to write either.**

 **Also still have a Hank/Ethan/Platt chapter I want to write.**

 **Not sure what's next. Likely will be 1-2 weeks before there is another update. Off possibility you might get one tomorrow but then again, not one for a while.**

 **Your reviews, comments and feedback are always very much appreciated.**


	19. Lines of Communication

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 17 (CAVEATS). IT WILL BE REORDER LATER.**

Erin found herself staring at Hank and Ethan. She had been for a while. Ethan seemed oblivious to it but Hank had given her a few glances. One had been accompanied with an unimpressed smack. But he'd stopped casting looks in her direction now. He seemed to have accepted that she was more interested in gazing at them than what was on the TV.

Lost. Some how appropriate – at least in title. But so not. Though, Ethan seemed content watching it. He'd gotten on the couch with his dad. Hank at his usual end while Ethan sprawled out and took up the rest of the sofa – using his dad as a backrest.

Hank didn't seem to mind. Erin found herself weighing how much he would've minded previously. How often he would've sent the kids over to sit on one of the two armchairs rather than invading his space on the couch when he was sitting there. That the moments he would've cuddled with them while watching TV would've been few and far between.

Hank wasn't a cuddly person. Ever. Even if he did distribute hugs, he wasn't a teddy bear. Though, he'd always had a soft touch with Eth. Maybe because he was the baby. Maybe because he was Camille's baby. Maybe because he was brain damaged. Maybe because of the M.S. now.

Erin didn't really know. Maybe it was just the dynamic of that father and son relationship. Far softer than what Hank's relationship had ever been with Justin. Not that the tough-love phase had hit full swing until Justin was well into his teens and really acting out – but he'd never been a soft-touch. Not that Camille had been either. They just weren't soft people. It wasn't how they showed they cared. They did that in other ways. Rules. Discipline. Responsibilities. Chores. Consequences and rewards. Family time and belonging.

And as much as Erin had seen Hank continue with being a tight-ass with Eth – so fucking strict sometimes and too stern for comfort – he was also … different. Maybe because he was a single father. He had to be dad and mom. He couldn't always be the bad cop – not that he'd always been with Camille either. Camille was pretty good at being a bad cop all on her own. She could be sterner than Hank when she wanted to be. She could be downright scary too. You knew not to cross her. But even with all that Hank was just … gentler with his interactions with Ethan.

But that seemed to be changing and evolving again. She knew the two of them had been butting heads and struggling since Justin's death. That they were still learning how to interact with each other in this new reality. That Ethan was pushing Hank away one minute and want comfort the next. That they were both hiding their tears, only to go looking to the other to help wipe them away. That they were angry with the other and the attitudes. That they were fighting and being stubborn. That they were fucking full of love-hate right now.

She'd watched in play. She'd seen them bounce back-and-forth on both sides of it on the tournament weekend. She'd heard Eth's frustrations and rages against his father. She'd watched his emotions yo-yo as he tried to deal with his loss and his understanding of what role his father did or didn't play in that. As he tried to place blame and couldn't find anyone to blame easily. She'd seen Hank's eyes glass and felt him shake against her in tight embraces as he tried to control his emotions that he didn't want anyone to know he had, but that he did a poor job hiding. She'd seen his regret and anger and fear. She'd heard him struggle to figure out how to be a father now – to a boy … a teenager. To what he had left. For him to try to figure out how to hold together that one piece he had left and not know how. And she'd seen how that anger manifested itself too – at work and at home. Tempers were short. Emotions were boiling. And confusing. And both Hank and Ethan were just a mess.

But not right now.

Right now was different. Ethan's rage at her dining room table had calmed. His glassy-eyed stare on driving him home had disappeared. And Hank's unimpressed glare he'd given her at delivering his son once again in an emotional turmoil had faded.

Right now they were just father and son watching TV. And it wasn't even just them who were leaning against each other in a transparent effort to try to absorb each other's presence – and the hope of calm it might bring. Bear was there too. His bulking skull planted against Hank's one knee while he stared at Ethan too and soaked up the attention Hank was giving him. The hand scruffing repeatedly at the fur between his ears, scratching behind them and tugging at the scruff of his neck. It didn't exactly look like soft and gentle pets. But it would've been the affection Bear had known and he seemed to be soaking up ever last bit of it, giving his own occasional smacks of satisfaction and comfort in the situation. Panting happily with a puppy dog grin the few times Ethan did lift his head off Hank's rest and look down at the dog, giving his wet nose a bit of a pat before settling back against his dad.

Erin wasn't sure she'd quite seen this scene before. Not this one. Though, she was quite sure that before – she'd watched some of Lost with Justin. That he would've been about that age that Ethan was now. That Hank likely watched it with him too. On occasion. If he was home. If he would subject himself to watching TV. Mindless TV, which was usually what he'd label something like Lost. Not sports. Not the news. Not some documentary series on History. Some primetime drama that he likely thought was a waste of time – when he could be working or reading or drinking or out or spending time with his wife rather than staring at a screen.

So Erin was just as sure that it wouldn't have been Hank who was sitting over in the corner of that sofa. That if she was enduring an episode of this show with Justin – it would've been her there. It would've been Justin sitting the way Ethan was. It would've been her – and the brother she'd been raised with – taking up space there, sprawled together. And it would've been Hank coming in and telling them off about having feet on the couch or on the coffee table. That he would've directed them to the armchairs. Or he would've turned off the screen and told them to go do homework or to read or suddenly have decided it was past Justin's lights out and had him tromping up the stairs pissed off at his dad and having to wait for the season to come out on DVD. For them to go to the video rental store with Camille and pick a disc with four episodes to binge on on some rainy weekend.

But that was before. And this was now. And the now was different.

She was different. Hank was different. And Ethan was now that little brother that she'd had when she was 17 and 18 and 20 and 21 years old. That pre-teen and young teen. Not that squawking baby on Camille's hip or being patted against Hank's shoulder. Feed and diapered and bath time and feeding time.

That was then. And now was now.

Then was starting to feel very long ago and very far away. But it's shadows just kept looming over her. Bringing up past realities and memories more and more. Stirring on things she hadn't thought about for years. Causing flashbacks and connections she hadn't made at the time but seemed so omnipresent now.

Now was different.

Hank kept playing with the short buzzed tuffs of Eth's hair. Twisting it in his fingers. Scrubbing at it as gently – and a roughly – as he was against the dog's head with his other free hand.

And she knew that's what he did. She knew the gently and playful tugs he'd given at her hair growing up. That he even did to her as an adult woman when he was teasing her.

That he lay hands on his kids that way. The times she'd fallen asleep on the couch to wake up to Hank's hand resting on her head – in her hair – telling her to head upstairs to bed. That he did the same when they were sick over the toilet – whether from the flu or too much to drink. Pushing the hair back from your face. And that if you really did have the flu, he'd be in your room – at your bedside – with that big, heavy hand on your forehead and pushing back your matted sweaty hair in the same way.

That she'd experienced. That she'd watched him do it to Justin and to Ethan. That she'd seen him do it over and over again to Eth this past year with his trips to and from the hospital and his fever spikes and infection battles. And she'd watched him to it to Justin one last time as he slipped away. That hand against his son's hair. Resting there. Stroking there against his crew cut and telling him in near silent whispers that he'd done good, that he was proud of him, that he loved him. Over and over again.

And Erin felt her eyes well – making a small sound – as she looked away. She had to look away. But she knew too that she'd attracted Hank's attention. Her noise. His sixth sense. And she felt his eyes land on her again. But she stared at the screen.

Ethan had used to look so much like Camille. This reminder of all things Camille. Her looks. Her eyes. Her hair. Her features. But these days, whenever she looked at Eth, she saw more and more of Justin there. Him at that age. Her one brother as a tweleve and thirteen year old boy – and now her other brother the same. The square features and the freckles and the short, messy hair.

And it wasn't Camille. It was Hank. More and more.

The boys became their father. As much as they were their mother's sons.

And she couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

Bad. She wanted to scream. That her brothers couldn't be Hank. They shouldn't be Hank. They shouldn't try to be their father.

Justin had tried. He'd tried so hard. To be the tough guy. To be his dad. But that wasn't him. And his failure – all of their failures – to recognized that had killed him.

They should've seen it. They should've told him that that wasn't him. It wasn't who he was. It wasn't what he was. He hadn't been raised the way he needed to be raised to become his father. He didn't want to be his father. He shouldn't strive for that. He should want more. He should be more. Because he was a good guy. He was just a nice, goofy guy – who didn't want to be that. So he spent his life trying to be the asshole. Because maybe that's what he thought his father was. Maybe that was the front Hank put up – with Justin.

But it wasn't with Ethan. Even the sternness, the strictness, the rules and the regulations. It all seemed to becoming less and less as they tried to figure out their normal. As they tried to find their way. As they struggled against each other. Fought. Battled anger and hurt and blame and sadness and fear.

As they once again looked death in the eyes. Only this time Ethan was old enough to understand. To feel it. TO comprehend it. To try to process it.

But how does a thirteen year old comprehend or process or conceptualize anything that had happened?

Maybe compartmentalizing it was just the best option. Putting it in a box on some shelf. Taking it down on occasion to try to deal with. Or maybe just putting it aside for years and trying to hide the tears. To feed the lines about how it didn't get easier but you got farther away from it. Like that somehow made it easier.

Erin didn't fucking know. She didn't think she could bring herself to believe – to buy into – any of the lines Hank had feed her in the past. The way he'd taught her. How he'd propped her up. How he'd helped her survive. How he made sure she wasn't dead in the streets at twelve or fourteen or fifteen when she'd run away again and sixteen when they dealt with the fallout of that and had her settle into what would be her life. What was supposed to be her life.

This. This was supposed to be her life. Her family. That she'd had to earn her place there. She hadn't just been given it. As much as she had been. It'd been a process.

And now with a single instant, it'd been robbed from her – and she just had this.

The man who raised her who wasn't the man she thought she knew. He wasn't the man who taught her the things she thought she'd been taught. The man who lived in the city that she thought she'd been living in.

This was different. This was now.

And she had her brother. Her baby brother. That she'd gotten to raise and watch grow and hold and love. And who'd always had his father on some sort of pedastal. Just like his older brother had until his teens. Until Hank hadn't done his job and cast it back on Justin for not taking responsibility for his actions. For his own fucking screw ups.

But who wasn't taking responsibility now? Who was cleaning messes up now?

And did any of them deserve that? Did they deserve what those clean-ups and protection and lies and deceptions and hidden truths and shadows meant? Because it wasn't all good and it wasn't all positive. And it didn't mean they had any better of life now. It didn't mean they weren't in prison. They were. Just a different kind. Their own little ring of hell. One that Dante seemed to have missed. But she thought she could write her own epic piece of poetry about. Or at least a lengthy police report.

But the reality was also right there in front of her. The why it had to be done. Why it needed to be done. Why it was good. Why it meant something more than just revenge or karma or a father's grief.

It had to be done – because Ethan needed his father. And Hank needed Ethan too. Right now, they were all that was propping the other up. They were all that was supporting the other. Saving them from falling into the depths. No matter how much the other couldn't stand taking on that role in the moment. No matter how anger and frustrated they were. They needed each other. Right there. Now. In that corner of the couch.

Hank scruffed a bit more at Ethan's hair and bent forward, putting a brief kiss against his forehead.

"OK, that's it. Bedtime, Kiddo," he muttered, as he straightened and reached for the remote to flick off the TV before Ethan could protest too much. Not that it stopped him.

"One more," Eth whined at him, gazing upward, his eyes rolled backward to his dad.

Hank shook his head. "Bed," he said more firmly.

"Dad," Eth protested again. "It's Friday."

Hank scruffed at his hair a bit more and then nudged him forward a bit. "Friday after your first week of school and you're acting real tired. Want you rested for the game tomorrow. So – bed."

"Dad—" he huffed more annoyed but Hank cut him off.

"You head up now, and we might do a chapter out of your book. You keep fighting me on it and screentime tomorrow is going to be a whole other negotiation. Don't think you'll be seeing what happens next this weekend either."

Ethan made a clearly unimpressed sound but fumbled around to get upright, retrieving his crutches and starting to head out of the front room.

"Say night to your sister," Hank instructed flatly.

Ethan gave her a small glance. It wasn't a happy one or an appreciative one. It was clearly a 'I'm just doing as I'm told' look. "Night …," he muttered.

She eyed him but didn't press it. She could've shot back some snark. Given him a taste of his fucking attitude lately. But what did that accomplish?

It just felt like anything these days didn't accomplish much of anything. They were all just screaming into the void trying to figure out how to exist.

"See you next week …," she offered up instead.

Because that was the truth. That was when she would see him. She hoped.

She knew that Jay would say to take the evitable invitation to Sunday dinner that Hank would offer, because she'd made herself come into the house. She'd made herself sit there. With them. To watch TV. To try to pretend like she could stand being in that house. That she could stand being near him. That she could somehow make herself find a normal in all of this.

And she didn't know she could. But she did know that something had to change. So she had to talk to Hank.

She had to swallow her pride and wave the white flag. And she had to figure out how to make this work, as much as she didn't think it could anymore.

It had to, though. She had to. For Ethan.

It was becoming her mantra: For Ethan.

Hank just sat there staring at her as Ethan clicked up the stairs. Bear charging a long after him and his nails clicking on the steps just as loudly, likely scratching up Hank's – Camille's – hardwood floors. But she just stared back. Looking just above his eyes so she didn't quite have to look at him. But refusing to let herself squirm under his gaze. Refusing to let herself feel intimidated by it, as he tapped his hand against the armrest and gave a few good smacks, his tongue poking out of his cheek as he listened for his son's door to close above him.

"Can't get into the habit of you two butting heads and him getting back here with his shorts in a knot," Hank put to her as the door did click shut.

She just stared him down – right back. "Think his shorts were in a knot before he got to the condo, Hank."

Hank just smacked at that and slapped his hand against the armrest again.

"He's tremoring," she pressed at him. "Badly."

Another smack and another slap against the armrest.

"He said his follow-up imaging is next week," she put to him instead. That time he just shrugged at her. "You weren't going to tell me?" she spat.

He smacked at her again. "When am I supposed to tell you, Erin? Don't got a lot of privacy to talk to you at the barn. Hardly look at me there. Told me to stop following you down to the locker room," he shrugged. "So fine."

"Hank," she barked at him and drilled her eyes into him.

"Don't answer your phone when I call ya. Hardly step into the house when you're picking him up or dropping him off. He's standing right there. Can't exactly talk about some of this shit then," he continued like she hadn't said a thing.

"So what? Where you ever going to tell me?"

He shrugged and smacked again. "Just the MRIs. Not a lot to say."

"Hank," she hissed at him, though she felt her eyes welling as she did and she didn't want them to. "You can't push me out of his medical stuff. I need to know. I want to be a part of the conversation, even if I don't get to be part of the decision. I have to know what is going on with it. With him."

His eyes softened a bit. Just a touch. "Erin," he said with less tone, "it's just the MRIs."

"Didn't you think that I'd want to be there?" she demanded, her eyes stinging again. "That maybe Ethan would want me there?"

He let out a slow breath and gave his head a little shake. "Erin, his appointment is the middle of the night – 1 a.m."

"Good," she spat. "Then there's not reason I can't be there. It doesn't interfere with work."

He gazed at her, his eyes flicker at that. "Erin," he put more firmly, "it's the full brain, full spine, neck they're doing this time. Going to take them hours."

She shrugged. "I'll bring a book."

He sighed and scrubbed at his face, gazing down at his feet for a long moment before meeting her eyes again. And she let him. She kept the gaze. "Erin," he said firmly but then let out another long sigh and shook his head. "He's tremoring too much. OK? And he's so agitated. They're going to have to put him under to do the imaging. To keep him still enough. You don't need to see him like that."

"Hank—" she argued.

He shook his head hard and drilled his eyes into her. "Erin, the life goes right out of him. His eyes. You don't need to see him like that. Not right now."

That struck her. The comment but the look in his eyes. The flicker in them. The life there that glistened. The sadness that flamed. But it just made her glared at him harder. "It's my choice, Hank. And I can handle it."

"Erin—" he pressed back at her with that 'I'm your father' holier-than-thou tone he seemed to think he'd perfected but she didn't hold in any high regard anymore.

"Hank," she spat with her own firmness. "I'm coming. And I'm coming to the appointment with his neurologist too."

He let out a breath and shook his head, looking down at the ground. Staring. Sitting so still and unmoving that she almost wondered if she'd made him cry. Or if he was biting his tongue to keep from lashing at her. She suspected the latter and her mind churned to come up with her own snipe to lash right back at him. To push him farther into his place. Not that she knew what his place was anymore. But she knew it wasn't as the guy who raised her. That he wasn't that man anymore. She wasn't that girl. And this wasn't about her. Or him. Or their relationship. It was about her baby brother.

And, whether Hank liked it or not, she was going to be one of the people who raised him. She was already. She was going to be until his eighteenth birthday. She was going to be after that. She would be until the end. He was hers just as much as he was Hank's. He was her foundation – her stabilizing force – too. He was all she had left of her memories of what their family had been too. Of the good. Of the hope and optimism that maybe they still had a future somewhere in there. And if they couldn't – at least Ethan could. That was why they'd done any of this wasn't? Why they'd made the decisions they had and hadn't? Why they'd done what they'd done and hadn't done? For Ethan.

"Hank, him being sick – worrying about it, dealing with it, living it – it's been my life this year too. It is my life. You have to include me. It's not optional. I understand that you don't want me to be a decision-maker. That you don't care what I think—"

"Erin," he interrupted. His eyes speaking to her, chastising her. "That's not how it is."

"I'm going to be there to hear what's happening," she continued. She didn't argue because she knew how it was. They both did. "To ask my questions. To understand what's going on. And if you care about him. If you care about my relationship with him – you will let me be there."

His eyes set on her. He just sat there. Staring. It was so long that she started to feel her skin crawl with it. Sitting in that chair that he'd make her sit in as a teenager. That he'd make her skin crawl the same way as she tried to work out what he knew. As she tried to figure out what she'd done. Or hadn't done. What he knew. Or didn't know. And just how badly she'd been caught. And she made her own measurements about what she should admit – what she should say in that moment – to save her own ass. To avoid punishment. To avoid being banished from the house. From her home and family.

But now – these days – she already felt banished. Like they'd all been banished. Those people she knew – they didn't live here anymore. They didn't exist anymore. And they weren't playing by the same rules anymore.

She had power in this relationship. More now than ever before.

She wasn't the child. She wasn't the teenager. Or the criminal. Or the outcast.

He was.

"OK," he finally allowed. That's all and nothing more.

So it was her turn to stare at him. Her turn to weigh what that statement meant because she expected more of an argument. She expected him to pull out familiar lines about Ethan being his son. About him being the decision-maker. About Ethan's health being his business and his alone. That he didn't much care about what she thought or didn't think. That her opinion in all of this – any of this – didn't much count.

But none of it came. Instead his eyes shifted to the table between the two armchairs. To the photo sitting there.

The photo that had sat there for years and years. Him and Justin and that fucking fish. Hank looking so fucking happy and at ease. Scruffy and sun-kissed but relaxed. Like they'd been on the water for hours – or more likely days. And he was basking in it. Justin looked more like someone had pissed in his coffee about the whole thing. Awkward and unsure and definitely not like he was having the same good time as his dad.

"E asked me about that pic the other day," Hank put flatly. "You remember that one?"

She gave it a passing glance and shrugged. "Been sitting there a long time," was all she allowed.

Hank just grunted at that, jutting his chin a bit. "Yeah, but you remember it? The day?"

Erin gave it another look. A brief one. It was hard to look at. To see her adopted brother that young. To see Hank that happy. To see people who looked like a relatively normal family, doing a relatively normal thing. Too fucking normal for them with Camille's job. Fishing was a family activity. They were always fishing when Camille was around. There wasn't a weekend that went by in the summer that didn't include fishing.

So she shrugged again. "Went fishing a lot," she allowed that time.

Hank made a little sound at that and moved his hand at his mouth to hide the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. The happy memories of his family. Of his wife and son that were gone now. That would never come back. Not to any of them.

"You took that one," he said. "You know that?"

Erin shook her head. Because she didn't. She didn't remember that. At all. But it might explain why neither Hank nor Justin were looking at the camera in the photo. They were looking off at something else. Or more likely someone else. Camille.

"That's Myrtle Beach," he said. "You were there. Don't remember that?" he asked, turning his eyes back to her.

"I remember going to Myrtle Beach," she allowed. "I don't remember the taking the photo."

Hank just grunted and gave a little nod, his eyes shifting back to it. "It's that charter we went on for the day. Don't remember, huh?"

Erin sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "I remember the ocean. The beach. The timeshare," she allowed. It was more than she wanted to. More than she even wanted to revisit.

But Hank just made another small sound and nodded lost in his own thought, as he looked at the photo. "E wanted to know why his brother looks like he has a stick up his ass. Why keep it out when he looks so pissed off." Hank made an amused noise. "Said J looked like me and I looked like him. Smiling. Pissed off. Vice-versa."

Erin gave the photo another little glance. "Has a point," she conceded.

She saw a smile tug at the corners of Hank's mouth again and he still kept his hand up to try to hide it. To hide the deep frown creasing his face when the smile didn't try to tug his lips upward.

"Justin wasn't ever much for fishing," Hank muttered.

"I remember," Erin confirmed to that. Because that she did know.

That Justin had increasingly put on bigger and bigger battles about getting dragged down to the pier or to various jetties and beaches to cast lines. To go camping and to river ways and lakes. To get invited out on boats with cop friends and social club friends and Camille's biologist friends to fish and drink and laugh and chat. To go to Lake Geneva for a week every summer with the near exclusive purpose being to get in more time fishing.

And it'd been a battle she'd been happy to fight with him. To gang up on the parents with him for. To whine and piss and moan and argue. Because she didn't equate fishing with a good time either. It was tedium exemplified.

But then Hank said, "Didn't like hurting the fish. Liked it even less if we gutted one for dinner. Fucking kid didn't even like us swatting at the noseeums." He shook his head and scrubbed at his face, muttering, "Hell of a way to go. Couldn't hurt a fly and …" he shrugged. His eyes shifted back to her, though. "Just told E that I like the photo."

"You've got other photos," she said flatly, trying not to feel or think about what he'd just said. Instead she just gestured off into the dining room – to the china cabinet and the photo frames that had gathered there. Their school photos and now Henry's baby shots. But she was thinking of the tacky high school graduation photos that Hank and Camille had likely paid more than their leg arm for. Her and Justin both in their caps and gowns in St. Ignatius' maroon. "Better photos."

But Hank just shook his head. "Not like this. Not as real," he put flatly and gazed it some more. "Like this one. Like fishing with my boys. Like knowing my girls are off camera. J looking at his mom. You taking the snap."

"I'm not your girl, Hank," she put to him directly.

"Mmm…," he grunted, his eyes shifting back to hers and holding them. "Erin, you're a part of the family even when you take yourself out of the picture."

Her eyes glassed again and she looked down. Because she wasn't going to let him play at her emotions. She couldn't. But the longer this went on the harder it was to o that. The emotions just became stronger – more real. And more and more negative. More overpowering. And that was tearing her apart in its own way too.

"Hank …," she finally allowed. "We … need to figure out a way to … communicate. For Ethan's sake."

He made a little pout and shook his head, giving her a shrug. "I'm good with that," he acknowledged. "What do you want to talk about?"

"He was in a mood tonight," she managed after a long beat of trying to decide what she wanted to talk about. What to say. First. "He wouldn't tell us how the week went."

Hank just grunted and shrugged. "Not great. Looks like it will be a challenging year academically. Feeling pretty overwhelmed. Low about the whole social dynamic thing. Real self-conscious about lots of things."

"He seems really tired," she managed.

He nodded. "He is. Was in the nurse's station a lot this week. Some of it's mental. Some of it's emotional. Then the tremoring. Full days back in class. Taking a lot out of him. He's had cut out for some downtime."

She gazed at him – weighing it. Deciding what more was worth commenting on. But there really wasn't anything to say. Not about that.

"He says you're pushing hockey at him," she touched on instead.

Hank gave a smack and patted at the armrest again. "Just trying to find something to keep him interested and engaged with kids. Ball was good for him."

"Said you're trying to bribe him with Cubs tickets for next year too," she added with an edge of accusation, even though she knew she shouldn't when her and Jay had already presented Eth with their own bribe.

Hank just made an amused noise, though. "That what he said?" he rasped and shrugged and smacked more loudly at the armrest. "Well, tickets to a few games gets us through this school year intact, then I'd say that's a decent investment."

She gazed at him with that comment. "Hank, he told me that there's no point in planning anything that far in advance because we all could be dead by then. And he included himself in that statement."

Hank smacked and his hand stay raised about the armrest, as his wrist, until his fingers clenched into a fist and he pounded that against the top a few times.

"It … upset me," she put more directly. "He was upset too. He wanted me to bring him home."

"Yea …," Hank acknowledged and shifted his eyes to gaze up the stairs. And they both sat quietly for several long moments.

She knew they were both straining to hear movement upstairs. To hear signs of life. But they were there.

"He needs … help, Hank," she said. "He's shutting me down when I try to talk to him. I don't know how to talk to him. He keeps getting … so angry with him."

"Yea … me too," he acknowledged.

"Have you taken him to his therapist yet? Gotten him on anything?" she asked.

He nodded and scrubbed at his face. "Yea," he allowed. "Got him on some anti-depressants. Part of the reason he's more tired than usual."

"Maybe he needs … a different kind of therapist," she said. "Maybe Dr. Charles could recommend someone more … appropriate. Not a rehab shrink."

Hank let out a slow breath and allowed a little nod. "Yea, working on getting him in front of someone else," he allowed. "Pelican thinks we should do some …" he rolled his eyes a bit before finding hers "… family therapy sessions. Get us all on the same page. Figure out this … communication thing a bit."

Erin eyed him at that and felt herself fidget under his gaze – visibly – for the first time that night. "What'd you say to that?"

Hank made another noise and moved his eyes back up the stairs. "Guess if that's what the docs think he needs to get him through this, than that's what I'm going to have to do."

"So you're going to go?" she pressed.

He just grunted and kept staring at the stairs. She gaped at him. Hank was usually so resistant to any kind of therapy. He'd even gone so far as to label it as crocodile tears in the past. That needing it indicated some kind of weakness. That it was something you put up with when you were ordered to do it – and only then to keep your badge. But that you didn't ever want to let yourself be exposed in that way. To let down your walls in that way to virtual strangers. But now he was going to? He was prepared to?

For Ethan.

His eyes shifted back to her. "You can come, if you want," he put flatly. "If you think it'd be helpful to you."

She gazed at him even more disbelievingly as she tried to process that. "Does Ethan want me there?" she finally managed.

He just grunted. "Don't think Magoo wants to be there much at all. But not really a multiple choice exercise for him."

She stared at him more. "Do you want me there?" she put to him instead.

His eyes met hers. "Want a relationship with my daughter," he said. "Want to be able to talk to her at work – as the guy who raised her, not her boss. Want her to pick up the phone when I call. For her to come in the door without knocking and not just show up to pick up her baby brother like we're going through some sort of fucking trial separation. Want her and my future son-in-law to come over for dinner on occasion. To stay for football. For the Cubs. For the Hawks. Want to get invited to dinner at her place. Want to get to see the fucking place, Erin. To help with the move. Hang the artwork. But you some shitty toaster or whatever the hell a father gets his daughter when her and the son-in-law buy their first place four fucking blocks over."

"Hank …," she struggled to find words.

To find arguments and venom that she'd been wanting to spit at him but even though she'd worked out all kinds in her head – she hadn't been able to put to him. Not when she looked into his eyes. Not when she saw the way the sadness and the guilt and the pain had creased his face and speckled it with age spots and grayed his hair and his stubble. How in a period of weeks he looked ten years older. How his eyes glassed more often than not. How he held himself at work. And how he held himself at home. The anger and the rage not directed at her or Ethan. Just the sadness there. The insurmountable loss that she wanted to comprehend – that she thought she could – but that she couldn't manage to dwell on. Because she knew it would destroy her just as much as it was eating him. That it was inching him closer to his grave. So even though she thought she hated him – she thought she couldn't trust him, that she wanted to rage at him – she usually just said nothing. And maybe that spoke more than any of the words she could find for him. Maybe they were at a point where they were beyond words. And that spoke volumes.

"Erin," he pressed, "you and Ethan are all I've got left – and I am willing to do whatever I need to do to have relationships with both of you. To make this – now – work. And to do that, yea, we need to communicate. So, yea, I want you to come. I want to be there for you. To be a part of your life. OK?"

And again her mind spun. It tried to form a no. To scream a no. But it wouldn't come out. It barely peeped. It just hit against a wall. A kick so hard that it again caused the tears she didn't want to be there to press against the back of her eyes.

So she just nodded. "OK …" she sputtered a little breathlessly.

Because maybe that one word was enough to communicate for now. In the now. Because this wasn't the before anymore.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The chapter immediately before this (Chapter 18 - Final Straw) was posted earlier today. Please make sure you didn't miss it. It won't have bumped and mightn't have alerted with two being posted int he same day.**

 **The next chapter(s) I will write will be the Jay/Erin talk and/or possibly the Jay/Will talk. I also still have plans for the Hank/Platt/Ethan chapter and I have plans for a Hank/Jay/Ethan chapter and likely a Hank/Jay chapter and a possibly Jay/Mouse chapter.**

 **Though, as I post this the Cubs are four innings away from the World Series. But this is baseball and a whole lot can change very quickly in four innings. Either way, though, I sense a fun chapter or two coming up for Ethan in this AU.**

 **As always, your thoughts, feedback and reviews are much appreciated — both on this chapter and the previous one.**


	20. A Little Magic

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 19 (LINES OF COMMUNICATION). IT WILL BE REORDERED WITHIN A WEEK.**

Hank balanced the carry-all cardboard box with his and Magoo's drinks and snacks. Over-priced beer and peanuts. Even more over-priced hot dogs since he had to trek around to right field to get to the only stand that served up the gluten-free, sugar-free variety. But it was part of the experience. Part of their little tradition they'd built up around their Cubs outings that summer.

Had become something that Hank valued. Probably valuing it more now than he had for the couple games he'd gotten his boy out to in June and July. Certainly made him wish he'd picked up a couple more tickets. Gone for the nine or twelve pack instead of the six. But at the time, he thought he'd been really splurging and didn't want to spoil his boy too bad or set expectations and wants too high fo the future.

Now, he was realizing more and more that times like this you just couldn't get back. Memories you created. The one-on-one time with your son. The real facetime. The talks. The shared experience. Only got so long to nurture these building blocks. To turn something like this into a tradition that your boy wanted to do with you long after he was a boy. That he still asked for as a teenager. That he still came back home to go out to a game with Dad after he was away in college. Even after he had his wife and girlfirned. That they'd still take father-son time – a boys' afternoon out in the nosebleeds of Wrigley's. Way off in the outfield and way up in the stands. But the view of that stadium sure couldn't be beat.

Couldn't get much more Chicago than sitting up in the high seats at Wrigley's. Looking past those posts and way out into the cityscape rising up even higher. The press box, the brick walls, the big video boards and the bigger old score boards. The flags. The real pomp and circumstance of Americana that came into being when you were sitting there at a the old ball game.

It was something you were supposed to do with your kids when you lived there. Fuck. They cheered for the Cubbies. But if you weren't going to cheer on the Cubs than get your kids out to the Sox. And if you couldn't stand ball than take your kids to the Blackhawks. Or the Bears. Or the Bulls. Or the Fire. Just get them out in those stands. In that environment. That experience. Share it with them. Be there with them. For them.

Found himself wishing he'd done that a whole lot more with J. Justin had never had much interest in baseball. Been hockey and football. Hank was OK with that. He was more of a Hawks and Bears man himself. But, he hadn't take J out to games like he did with Magoo. Sure, they'd been to a handful of games here and there while J was growing up. Some hockey. Some football. Nothing like the yearly habit he'd had with Magoo, though. Nothing like the number of games him and Eth had gotten out to that year. Nothing like the ticket pack that Hank was already measuring if he could justify again for next year – and that he'd already framed as some sort of good behavior bribe for his son, without much positive reaction.

But there'd always been a bit of a price difference between an afternoon at Wrigley's and a day at Soldier Field or a night up at United Center. And it seemed like that had always been a consideration. Maybe more than it should – even though it had to be. Can only do so much for your kids when you're on a city salary. Only goes so far if you aren't willing to be putting in the OT and picking up the extra shifts or going U.C. and picking up some danger pay. Options that Cami had never been too keen on after J was on the scene. Had been even less keen on him doing it after he'd brought their daughter home – even though at that point they sure as fuck needed the extra cash with the unexpected expenses that came along with an expanded family when you're adding an older child to the mix. A kid who needed a safe school environment away from bad influences. A kid who needed a whole lot of therapy and supports. A kid that just came to them with the clothes on her back and a backpack stuffed full of rags that you wouldn't even use to wipe down your bathroom.

So he hadn't done the father-son bonding time enough with J. Not just at the ball field. But just in general. Knew that now. Too starkly. Hadn't established those lines of communication well enough. Hadn't made his boy trust him enough to believe that he could handle the good, the bad, the ugly and the illegal and it wouldn't make him love him any less. Wouldn't make him fight for him any less. To look out for him any less.

Maybe he'd been away too much. Undercover too much. Married to the job more than he wanted to admit – even though he preached that his family was at the center of his life. Or maybe he'd just had too many ideas about how a father raised a son. How you turned a boy into a man. What you talked about and didn't talk about. What you did and didn't do. Maybe he'd treated his son like a 1950s kid rather than an 90s one. Maybe he would've done better as a parent if he'd been raising his kids back in the post-war era. Maybe the world would've made a bit more sense than. Even though that made him even older than his time. But didn't know that he'd ever much be made for a '60s childhood. Though, he thought he didn't do too well with being a teen in the '70s. Liked to think maybe he fit in some then. But still didn't think he would've known how to raise a kid in the '70s. Maybe his own dad hadn't really either. Or his dad before him. Maybe it was all just a series of missteps of men trying to figure out how to be men in fucking ever changing society. Or maybe there just wasn't any right to parent. That you had to change with the time and the place and the kid and the ages. Or maybe father and son relationships are just fucked from the start.

He liked to think he was doing better with Magoo. That he had it figured out just a little bit more. But the truth was that a lot of time he didn't know what the fuck he was doing. How to be a single father. How to raise a boy without a mother there to soften it all a bit. Thankfully he had his sister. They'd both likely really be fucked if she wasn't in their lives. Fuck, he'd seen how fucked they were when she retreated from their lives. They'd been fucking dysfunctional. Just a fucking mess. Both of them. Him and his boy. And it wasn't all because J was gone. It wasn't just that fall-out. It was that now they were alone in this whole other and new way that didn't make a whole lot of sense.

It was fucking hard. Maybe that's another reason he looked forward to these ball games so much. Because for batting practice, plus nine innings – some extras if they got real lucky – things just felt a bit more normal. Just a little fucking easier. Made a little bit of sense. Could just focus on the baseball. Could connect of the baseball. Could talk strategy and stats and the curse of the Billy Goat and dream that this fucking year would be the year. That they'd see some fucking magic. Because they really could use some of that in their lives.

Maybe if the fucking Cubs could end 108 years of losing, him and Magoo had a fucking chance too.

Slow progress up the steps. For all E's talk about switching full-time to his leg braces that fall, that sure hadn't come into play his first week back to class. Hank wasn't too upset about that anyway. Preferred his boy have the extra support to rest against when he was acting so fatigued and tremoring so much these days. Did wish, though, that E would watch what he was doing and stop turning back to keep nattering at him about some fucking tshirt he wanted out of the gift shop.

Finally got to the seats and grunted, gesturing for his boy to get settled. That was a process too. E fumbling around to get the crutches off his hands. Mixed blessing of having seats on the end of the row. E liked getting to these things real early. Make a whole fucking afternoon out of it. Make sure they had time to get their food and look once again in the fucking swag shops. Watch batting practice. Go down closer to the field and try to see if he could get any of the players' attention. Hadn't had a whole lot of luck with that but his son's Cubs had gotten some real one-on-one time with some of the players earlier in the summer anyway. Better than any fleeting moment to have one of the guys sign a ball that would happen here. Not that that was to say E wouldn't treasure a signed ball he managed to land. But it was a bit of an exercise in futility. Went down, though, because E seemed real committed to wanting to try to get Ross' John Hancock before he retired. Likely meant they'd be headed back down to the field at the end of the game too to exercise the futility again.

But getting up to their seats early on in the afternoon usually meant that they were having to get up so people could shuffle by them. E wasn't so hot about getting back to his feet in an easy manner. But Hank had resorted to putting him right on the end and propping the boy's crutches there to hopefully drive home the point with most of the folks trying to get by. That they'd either be patient or just step over the kid without stepping on him. Some times that was a little much to ask when you were up in the cheap seats at a ball game and people were tossing back their overpriced brews. Even with good intentions, they were likely to stumble over his son more than E was likely to stumble around getting up.

"So you don't think I should get the shirt?" E put to him again, looking up at him with big eyes, as Hank shoved the tray of food into his boy's lap and did his own gaited step to get over him and his ass set into the next seat.

He took the tray back – before E managed to dump it on the ground. He wasn't having a good day in terms of tremor. Erin was right. The fatigue of the meds to get this to calm some was a better option than continuing to watch his boy shake like this. Was going to have to really drive that home with the docs and get it done. Couldn't keep going like this too much longer.

Hank pulled out his beer and nudged the food onto his one knee so E could get access to it when he was ready. Likely best he didn't pick it up right now. He'd be throwing hi dog's condiments all over himself if he did.

"Just said you already got two Cubs shirts this season," Hank put back to him.

That was the truth. Had the T that came with the Cubs Club membership and had the real deal jersey from his team. Didn't know how many Cubs tshirts one kid needed. But E sure seemed to think he needed another one. Needed to bleed a little more blue and get a shirt with one of the catchers' names on the back. Thing was he'd been going back and forth all season about who's name he wanted on his back. Though, with it being their last game, he seemed to have decided it was going to be David Ross.

"But I don't have that one," E nearly whined at him.

Hank grunted and just took a sip out of his beer. Figured that E expected him to pick up on the hints and to make the purchase for him. But wasn't going to make that purchase for him. It was on the list of things that he thought was a little fucking stupid to be spending cash on. So, if E wanted it – he had his allowance.

"Maybe you should wait until the post-season. Sure you'll see something else you want then," he muttered at his boy, as he brought his glass down and rested on his knees a bit to take in the view.

"But this is our last game," E protested.

Hank shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe you should save your cash, so if your boys are playing October Baseball, we'll still be sitting up here for a game or two."

E sighed at him. "You get a discount here, though, right?"

Hank grunted and took another swig of his brew.

"How much?" E asked. Sounded a bit more like a demand.

"Fifteen," Hank told him flatly and took another sip.

Even with the first responder credit they got in the shops, didn't think he agreed that it was worth flashing his badge for. Thought, E should hold onto that cash for now. Spend it on something that made a little more sense.

E slumped back in his seat a bit. Clearly wasn't the figure he was hoping for. Likely living in some dreamland that they got a fifty percent or more discount. Wouldn't that be fucking nice. Lucky that they got what they got – and that they were allowed to claim it.

Though, normally, Hank didn't go around flashing his tin to get the various discounts available to him around the city. Didn't need to go around publicizing who and what he was to people who didn't already know. Cami had never much liked his stance on that either.

But there was something to be said for discretion when you did the kind of work he did. Just like you didn't want to go getting your picture in the paper. Didn't want some little corner store clerk jotting down your name and badge number. Attaching it to the kind of purchases and activities you were doing with your family. Not information he wanted floating around. Information he'd become even more adverse to having floating around since he'd lost Camille. Since his son ended up losing half his face and in a coma. Since his boy's car blew up out front of his house when he was about to strap his grandson in to take his oldest, daughter-in-law and grandbaby out to dinner. Since his first-born had his brains fucking blown out. Since his daughter and son lost their brother. Since his grandson and daughter-in-law had been left without a father and husband.

Only certain people who needed to see his star. Deserved to see it. And sure didn't think some kid in the Cubs Store was on the list – especially for just a fucking fifteen percent price cut.

"You're never going to let me spend my allowance on anything are you?" E grumbled at him and reached to retrieve the bag of peanuts.

Hank took it from him. Didn't need E opening it with the way he was shaking. He'd likely burst it open in a way that sent the content flying onto the heads of the people sitting three rows in front of them.

He easily popped open the bag and handed it to his boy who just huffed at him as his thanks.

"It's your money, Magoo," Hank said. "Can spend it on whatever you want."

"Yea, except a Cubs shirt or a Xbox," he muttered as he worked at cracking a shell between his fingers. He'd likely do better to bite into the thing but he refrained comment on his boy's methods.

"Can spend it on the Xbox, if you want," Hank put to him and E's eyes flew at him. "Just keep in mind that even with your new toy, it don't mean the rules around screentime or videogames are going to change any. And if we get into a power struggle about it again like we did during summer school, new one will get locked up the same as the old one."

E huffed at him again and shifted his eyes to the field, as he crunched on his snack. So Hank just let him. Let himself enjoy his drink. Sunshine. Feel it. Shaping up to be a real Indian Summer that fall. Any other year, he'd appreciate that. Nice to get it before the wind, rain and snow started really rolling in off the lake. But it'd been such a scorcher that summer, that he was sort of looking forward to hitting some seasonable temperatures. Just another way to start putting the whole summer behind them. Needed to do that. Start moving on. But even with that, sunshine and 80 on a ball game in September wasn't anything to turn your nose too far up at.

"Think you might want to go over to the RIC's open house tomorrow," he put to his boy after giving him several minutes to pull himself out of his snit. "Check out the demonstrations for the fall programming. Winter sports."

Ethan gave a little shrug. "Don't know," he grumbled. "You won't let me buy basketball shoes either."

Hank pushed up his sunglasses and stared at the side of his son's head, letting out a smack. Was getting so good at the tone and attitude anymore. "Don't see much point in dropping a wad of cash on Jordans if you aren't playing ball," he put flatly. "Or you saying you decided you're going to sign up for basketball?"

E let out a little sound and gave him a glance. "Eva doesn't want to play hockey," he said with this edge of shyness. "She says black people don't skate."

"You tell her white boys don't jump?" Hank put to him.

Magoo squinted at him. Reference long before his time. The kid just sighed anyway. "Evan doesn't want to do hockey either."

"Don't need either of them to be playing for you to play," Hank said.

"Yea … but they're my friends," E provided. "If we don't sign up for the same thing, we'll likely never see each other."

Hank gave a little smack at that, poking his tongue into his cheek and bringing his drink up for another sip before grabbing a couple peanuts out of the bag and starting to shuck them himself. "Sure you'll see them at other RIC stuff over the year. Hang out some weekends."

E just shrugged and scuffed his foot against the concrete. "Erin and Jay tried to bribe me last night too. Like you. But they said they want me to join something too. But I don't really feel like joining anything."

Hank gave a little sigh at that and landed his hand on his boy's shoulder. "E, you gotta be doing something. Can't just be school and home. Need something fill your time. Need to socializing some."

"I just don't see the point …," he mumbled and cracked another shell, crumbling the pieces onto the ground and scuffing them around more with his feet.

"Point is that you got to be living life," Hank told him.

"Guess I don't see the point of that either," he said under his breath.

Hank let out another breath and moved his eyes back to the field. He scruffed at his face a couple times and then reached to pull his sunglasses off the top of his head, settling them back onto the bridge of his nose. Hiding his eyes. Didn't need the general citizenry catching a glimpse of what these kinds of talks with his kid did to him anymore.

"Talked to you sister a bit last night," Hank managed.

"I know," E said. "I could hear you."

He allowed a little nod. "Three of us are going to go do some talking with a professional. See if that can help us sort through some of the stuff we're all feeling. Figure out how we can all talk about it a bit better."

"That sounds like bullshit," E said quietly.

Hank moved his eyes to stare at his boy's downcast head. His shaking fingers picking at the shell on the peanut.

"Wish it were bullshit, Magoo," he said. "But it's far from it when you keep using this language that devalues your life. When I've got your sister telling me you're saying similar things to here."

His boy just shrugged.

Hank reached and put his hand on his boy's shoulder but E pulled away slightly. So he moved his hand to the back of his head instead, giving the base of his boy's neck a couple good squeezes, before running his hand through the short hair and then reaching to flip his boy's cap around backwards the way he usually liked. Had had it on the right way while they were down hanging over the edges of the field to see what they could see under the high noon-hour sun.

"You talking like that really upsets us both," he told him.

But E just shrugged again. "I'm just saying the truth. We all die."

Hank squeezed at the base of his son's neck again. "There's truth to that, Magoo. But thing with life is that if you spend all of it just waiting for death to find you, you aren't going to do much living."

His son picked more madly at the shells. A shelled peanut fumbling out of his fingers and to the ground, only for him to angrily grab another handful. But Hank reached and took the nuts away from him.

"Let me get a few of those for you," he told him evenly.

E let him take them but his hand went immediately back in the bag to grab his own to do too. To not have to look at him.

"It doesn't mean you have to go looking for death," E said firmly and gave him an accusingly glance. . "You all are cops. You're likely going to get shot at and hurt and probably die."

Hank eyed him. For a long time. But then nodded. "There's some truth to that too, Ethan. But the way I try to look at it is that I'm not that afraid of dying. What I'm afraid of is how you'll remember me. How Erin will. How Henry will. So what I try to do is to live a life of meaning. And the best way I know how to do that is to do the job I do. To take care of this city. The people in it. Because that's letting me take care of my family. Then whether I get hurt on the job. Whether I did on it – or die some other way – some old man in his sleep – that that's what you'll remember me and the life I've lived." E gazed at him. Tried to process. "You need to find a way to live a life of meaning too. And you can't do that by saying things don't matter or that it ain't worth making plans. That's not living life, Magoo."

E sat there staring at him. So long that Hank let his eyes shift back to the field because he didn't think his boy had anything else to say and he couldn't keep looking into his wife's eyes in his boy's sockets. Not with the pain and sadness that was in them anymore. The spark that was gone. That twinkle that made him so much Camille. He lifted his beer to his lips again.

"You're really not afraid of dying?" E finally asked.

Hank shook his head. "Nope," he said but gave his son thin lips – more of a smile than a frown but also not much of anything. But he squeezed at the back of his son's neck again, this time rubbing his thumb at his shoulder blade. "Just a little afraid I'll really miss you."

E gave him a weak smile at that but his eyes glistened a bit and he looked down back to his shucking, but Hank shoved the ones he'd already shelled into his palms instead. Eth gazed at them. "But you'd be with Mom and Justin and Grandma and Grandpa and stuff. And you miss them too now," he provided quietly.

Hank allowed a little nod. "Yea, I do," he acknowledged. "But maybe it's good to remember that Justin's up there with your guys' mom and Grandma and Grandpa and Oma and Opa too. Lots of company."

E allowed him a little glance but gave his own little nod. Hank scruffed at the back the hair on the back of his son's neck again. "And they all want us living life, not waiting on getting back with them."

"Yea …," E acknowledged weakly.

"What was that quote the green thing whipped off the other night?" Hank put to him.

E gave him a little squint. "You mean Yoda?"

Hank gave a smack and a shrug. "Sure, Yoda. 'Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.'"

E gave him an amused smile. "You were actually watching the movie?"

Hank shrugged again and looked back out to the field. "Sitting there. Might as well watch it."

Reality was sitting together in the front room staring at the boob tube had about come their neutral zone – besides up in these stands. Seemed like they could usually get through a movie or a couple episodes of Magoo's latest binge-worthy show without a fight or tears. Something else to cling to these days.

"Green thing has a point," Hank allowed. "Need to cut back on the fear and anger. Not leading to any good things for us."

"I don't think we're really Jedi kind of people, Dad," Ethan said flatly.

Hank ran his tongue across his teeth but turned to look his boy in in the eyes, pushing up his sunglasses again so they could really see each other. "Well, E, we sure ain't on the Dark Side either," he said. "Got to trust me on that."

E gave him another one of those long stares. The ones that were hard to look at. And Voight brought down his glasses again and turned back to the field, taking another swig of his beer.

Dark Side. Light Side. That was too fucking black and white. Life wasn't like that. That was pure science fiction.

Life. All of it. It was fucking grey. And you had to learn to live within that. Make your plans within that. Embrace that.

Because that's what living life was. In the grey – that mix of beauty and fucking agony – that's where you found the meaning. Had to.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Reader stats and reviews have been really low. Think FF is doing something weird with me posting multiple chapters in a day again.**

 **So, anyway, you might want to check the last two chapters — or maybe the last four — to make sure you caught them all.**

 **Your reviews, comments and feedback are much appreciated.**


	21. Final Straw

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin sighed at her call rang through to voicemail – yet again. It wasn't like she wasn't expecting that to happen. She just kept hoping that Olive would pick up the phone. Or return her text. Or respond to an email. Anything. But she hadn't. She hadn't heard anything from her since she'd gone over to her aunt's cluttered house and tried to talk her out of leaving. Tried to talk her out of this.

This being cut out of her life. Henry's life. Like their ties could now somehow entirely be severed. That they could just stop talking. That they could ignore they were ever a part of each other's lives. That they were family whether they liked it or not. That there was blood between them. All of them. Not genetics. Blood. They'd earned in the fucking hard way. And you couldn't just do away with people like that. Not when you'd earned each other that way.

Or maybe it was more that Erin was a little jealous that Olive seemed to be able to cut them out so effectively. With a single swipe. A seemingly instantaneous decision. One single decision. To change the course of all their lives. All their relationships.

That Olive could just up and leave. Leave it all behind. It was something Erin couldn't bring herself to do. Something that she didn't know if she was capable of. If she'd ever be capable of.

To leave Chicago? To leave behind Ethan? Hank? The job? The life she'd established there – good and bad.

But Olive had done it. Did it. Was doing it. She'd walked away. From the city. Her family. Their relationships. Their ties. The memories.

Though, Erin didn't buy for a second that the memories had been left in Chicago. Life didn't work like that. You didn't just forget. It wasn't that easy.

She wished it was. She'd spent a lot of her life wishing it was. She wished now for Ethan and for Hank - and even for Olive and Henry – that it was that simple. But it wasn't. To act like it was was just creating a further delusion for yourself.

None of them needed that either.

"Hey," she muttered into the phone after the message – that was pretty much a none message, just a flat statement telling callers to leave a message and that she'd called back, which Erin had also decided was pretty much another lie. "It's Erin. Again."

Again. And again. And again.

She suspected Olive wasn't even listening to the messages. Not at this point. It wasn't like Erin was stalking her. She wasn't calling insistently. But she was.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you," she clarified. Or justified. Tried to get her to understand in as non-judgmental way as possible.

But she had judged. She'd tried to understand. She was trying to understand. And maybe even in her own way she could understand. Because she did want to run away from it all too. All of this. The family. The memories. Fucking Chicago. But she didn't know that would get her any farther ahead. She thought it'd likely just make her feel more alone than she already did.

She didn't think it'd feel like she was starting a new life. She didn't even know if she felt like she agreed it was to protect Henry. That it was best for Henry.

What was she protecting him from? From Chicago? From Hank? From a past and a history she didn't want him to grow up knowing about?

But he'd sense it. He'd go looking for it. It'd find out.

You couldn't erase who people were. You couldn't change them.

Henry would come looking for them. And answers. Eventually. Not this year. Not next year. But by the time he was Ethan's age, they'd be hearing from him. More and more. He'd want to know about his father. He'd want to know who he was and were he came from. He'd want to know his family. His grandfather. His city.

You couldn't just erase that from a person.

Erin knew that herself.

And she knew that she'd gone back and forth feeling like she needed to steal Ethan way from Hank. To run away with him. To protect him.

But it would've just done more damage. It'd make him hate them – all of them – more. And it'd just confuse the whole situation. It'd make him more alone too.

She couldn't do that. Not to him. Not to her brother. And she wasn't sure she could accept that Olive had done it to her child? That Olive really felt that was best?

And was it?

Does a mother really know what's best?

Bunny sure was fuck hadn't.

And even though Olive wasn't a bunny, she sure as fuck wasn't a Camille either.

Erin didn't buy this was about Henry. Henry was being used as an excuse. A crutch. This was about Olive.

And that hurt too. It was what was best for her. It was because she – the grown-up – couldn't cope. So she'd made a choice that caused more hurt in a family that was already reeling.

Erin rubbed at her forehead as she leaned against her kitchen counter. The only support she had that night – in making this likely rather ill-advised call.

"Look …," she sighed again, even though she didn't want to come across as begging to Olive, in a way she knew she was. If Olive even listened to this before hitting delete. Wiping the message away just as easily – even more quickly – than she'd wiped all of them. "Ethan's mentioned that you …".

She took a long pause. She was going to say "bought" and then she was going to say "have" – and then she just couldn't fucking decide which would be the best way of putting it. There likely really wasn't a good way to put it. At all.

She gazed at the counter. "He seems to think you have Green Day tickets," she tried. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound sincere. She didn't like the way it sounded at all but she couldn't come up with a better way to put it. "He seems really interested in going," she sighed, squeezing at the bridge of her nose and squishing shut her eyes. "I've tried to get tickets for their show here and the ones near by but …"

She made another little sound and shook her head again. This just felt so strained. Maybe Olive was right to leave. The awkwardness was too much.

"I really didn't want to do this in a message," she put more directly and straighten, staring at the wall of her kitchen. Her kitchen that was only going to be her kitchen for so much longer. "Anyway … basically … I'd be willing to buy them off you, if maybe you don't want to … use them."

It was so stupid. She knew Olive likely wouldn't be using them. She supposed the real question was if she wanted to sell them. If she hadn't already. But if she hadn't already – at this point – Erin knew it was likely because she didn't want to sell them. That she couldn't bring herself to. That she was going to hold onto them. As some sort of added layer of torture or reminder. That, again, she wasn't sure did anyone any good. But, she also knew that was what people did when they lost someone. She only had to look at Hank and Camille's house to know that.

She'd already lived through it. And she'd seen what it'd done to Hank. Holding onto things that maybe shouldn't have been held on.

Not being able to let go.

But would any of them ever really be able to let go?

Were you ever really supposed to be able to let go?

Did people really move on after things like this?

Their experience as a family after Camille's death already gave her the answer. And it was that they didn't.

Not really.

They kept living. But they weren't whole. They were never the same. And it was always going to feel different.

Strained. Awkward.

Dead.

They were all a little dead in their own separate ways.

Now and forever. That's what she was learning.

And she was learning it over and over again from a different perspective as Jay let down little walls – allowed cracks to form and dropped little bread crumbs – about his life too. About his mom. About losing a loved one. Both at home and overseas. The family you're born into and the family you choose.

And it doesn't matter if they're shot in the head, if they bleed out in your arms, if they are taken off life support and their body just stops functioning before your very eyes, or if cancer takes them away from you ever so slowly bit by bit making you experience that death piece by piece as they disappear from your life.

Whatever the way – it doesn't leave you. It doesn't get easier. You don't forget. You don't move on. You're never whole again. Not in the same way.

No matter what collection of artifacts you keep around you. No matter what memories you runway from. Or the ones you cling to.

"Or … maybe you want to come up and take Ethan …," Erin suggested. Even though she knew the answer to that would be no. That it wasn't something that Olive would want. Not this soon. Maybe never would be too soon. And even if she did muster up the courage – the strength, the fortitude – to come back, Erin wasn't sure that Ethan would agree to go with her. "Or, I'm sure Hank would be willing to buy them off you too, if you want. If he hasn't offered already. Have you talked to him lately?"

She sighed. She thought she knew the answer to that. A sense of it.

And that sense was that Hank had some fleeting correspondence with her. Not that he'd said that. But she got the sense from Ethan.

But fleeting was likely being generous. Olive was doing her best to keep him at more than arm's length. She'd put half a fucking country between them. Eighteen-hundred miles. And Erin suspected that she likely still felt that was probably too close for comfort.

The made Erin slump back against the counter again. She elbows feeling the cold of the granite. The whole condo was starting to look so bare.

Boxes. It was all boxes. It was strange to see it that way. It was strange to see how much stuff she'd accumulated as an adult – in her own space. But to also see just how few boxes it took up too. This juxtaposition of fullness against the emptiness of the condo. The emptiness she felt while also having things in her life that made her feel full.

And that was something Olive didn't have right now.

But she could. She should.

She had Henry. Hopefully that helped. But she could have more than that. She could have them. Her and Ethan and Hank. Jay. Her crazy aunt who seemed to really love and care about her and Henry, even if she wasn't exactly all there and clearly had her own mental issues that were to be avoided.

"I wanted to let you know too, that Jay and I have bought a townhouse. So I know … that maybe it's still a little soon for you to feel like you want to come back … for a visit, but when you're ready, we've got space for you and Henry. You don't have to stay at Hank's. It's … in Little Italy," she sighed and thread her hand through her hair. "So I know that … might be … too close for comfort." She shook her head. "It's not great for me … us … either. Wasn't really where we were looking … before. But … Ethan's really struggling, Olive, and we decided we needed to … be near him."

She beat her hand against the counter top at that. She wanted to say more. To pass judgment. To ask how she could just up-and-leave when Ethan was already struggling and confused. To beg for her to be aware of his feelings in all this too – because Henry wasn't the only little boy trying to cope with all of it. But maybe Henry would be the one to come out of this the most unscathed. Because he was too young to understand. Yet.

But Ethan? That was a different story. And some days Erin wondered what her baby brother was going to look like if they ever got to the end of this slog. How unscathed he'd be.

Hoping that Ethan was going to come out of his childhood unscathed at this point was just another delusion. He was beyond fucked. He'd been through too much. Seen too much. Experienced too much. Lost too much.

He wasn't going to be 'normal' by any means. It was now a question of how functional he'd be. It was a question of if they were saving for college or they were saving for bail. And some days Erin didn't know what the answer to that question wasn't going to be anymore.

He wasn't entirely acting out yet. But he was at that edge where it could go either way. He could explode. He could fall over the edge. Though, she suspected if he fell over the edge it was more that he was going to fall into a hole. A deep one. One that scared her with some of the things he said anymore. That look of sadness he had in his eyes. This cloud that just hung over him.

Her baby brother was hurting. They all were. But Ethan's pain stung her in a way that she wasn't sure how to cope with.

Or maybe in a way that terrified her. Because she'd seen what falling over that edge at 17 had done to Justin. The spiral it'd caused and just how far down rock bottom was. And how long it had taken to pull him back out of that hole.

And then that had been all for naught.

She didn't want that for Ethan. That couldn't be how it played out for Ethan.

"We haven't put my condo on the market yet," she almost whispered into the phone. "I don't know how things are going down there. How you're settling in or how you're feeling. And I know it's … only been a month or so … but … I'm just going to hold off listing it for a bit. We could work something out. Make it work for you and Henry."

She ran her fingers through her hair again. "We were just … we were all really looking forward to having you and Henry around. Before all this. We miss you guys. Hank's really feeling it. Not that he's said that. But—"

The phone beeped and told her she'd reached the end of her time to record her message. She swore under her breath at the phone and hung up only to dial back and wait again as it rang through, again listening ot the recording as her call was again ignored, this time hitting the mailbox far quicker, hinting that her call had been declined that time. But she stayed on the line anyway.

"Sorry," she huffed. "I wouldn't normally leave a message this long, if you'd … just … get in touch." She sighed and crossed her arms. "Olive, I'd really like to keep in touch. I want to be a part of Henry's life. We all do. And I just … need you to understand that we're still here for you and for Henry. I know Hank can be hard to be around and … awkward. And I know if you told him you needed space, he's likely more than giving that to you, maybe more than you want – but that's just how he is. He wants to talk to you and he wants to see Henry. And you. He's just trying to … respect your wishes. We all are. But we're … struggling."

She turned and gazed out her picture windows – the darkened view of Chicago.

"I know you don't likely want to come back here yet. Not in October – but if you aren't talking to Hank, could you please, talk to me. Let me in on what you're thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas. I know it's … too soon in so many ways to start thinking about that. That we don't want to think about it either. But … if you don't want to come this way, maybe Hank or Hank and Ethan or me and Ethan or … whatever you're comfortable with … could come down? I just … I need to start wrapping my head around how to make this work here … for us … for Ethan. Because I'm having a lot of trouble being in that house and talking to Hank right now too. And I just … I need to try to get things to normalize a bit for Ethan. Help him wrap his mind around some things and prepare for them. And just … he's struggling, Olive. Really. Mentally and emotionally but all this …," she shook her head again and stared out the window. "The stress of it all is really … not doing good things for his M.S."

She leaned her shoulder against the window and stared straight ahead, only to turn and rest her forehead against the cool glass.

"Just call me. When you get a chance. Let me know about the concert tickets or how things are going. How Henry is. The condo …" she faded out and felt her eyes glass. "Send Hank some pictures of his grandson … please. It will help."

She pressed her forehead into the glass more firmly. "OK … so … call me. I hope you're … doing OK."

She felt so stupid saying it. She felt so stupid making the call.

But she also didn't know what else to do anymore. She felt like she kept on grasping at straws. So she pulled at this one. Maybe this one wouldn't be the short straw. Maybe this one would be the winner.

Maybe this one would get a call back.


	22. Real Monsters

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 18 (FINAL STRAW). IT WILL BE REORDER LATER.**

Jay started a bit as Voight glanced at him from the kitchen table. Suppose he shouldn't be surprised to see him. It was the guy's house. It was just that Voight usually didn't make it much of a mystery that he was up on a Saturday morning. You knew it. You heard it. But Jay hadn't heard a thing.

He'd tossed and turned. For hours it felt like. It'd ultimately been Erin settling herself against him that had settled him down. Again reaffirming that it was the right thing to do. To let Mouse make his own choices. His own mistakes. His own decisions. For him. To trust that Mouse was doing the right thing for him. That it couldn't be what was right in his life. That it had to be what was right in Greg's.

Jay wasn't sure that made it any easier. Because he had real fears. That he was going to lose another friend. That really one of the only friends he'd had when he'd come back might become another person that didn't come back safe this time. That the guy who'd been there for him – wasn't going to be there anymore.

Mouse was his brother. More than his brother was his brother. And as much as he'd been there for Mouse the past few years, it'd been Mouse who'd pulled him out of his own hole before. It'd been Mouse being there – that shoulder to lean on, to talk to, to explore the fucking depths with, to even understand what those fucking depths looked like – that had helped him figure out how to fucking cope. How to bury parts of his past and hide others. How to deal with some of them. Things they'd seen. Things they'd done. Grey areas that he'd lived in and the shadows they cast that still fucking haunted him and his sleep.

Jay owed Mouse. In a lot of ways he owed Mouse his life as much as Mouse seemed to think he owed him his. And he'd made a promise to Mouse – he'd promised him that he'd look out for him. That he'd help him get through as much as he'd helped him. That he'd help him get back to the man he was – at least some facsimile of it, some regeneration or rejuvenation or whatever the fuck they taught you in college. A functional clone of himself – with the good pieces but unfortunately the bad fucking memories. The debts and the monsters. Pasts you couldn't escape – but ones that Jay had been willing to spend his life helping his friend help fight back. Because he owed him. They owed each other. That much.

And maybe he should've played on that. Maybe he should've played on the fact that Mouse did owe him something. He should've held it over him.

That he'd saved him. He'd got him home. He'd helped him get his life sorted. He got him a job. He got him adjusted again with society and his family and got him real friends – not people who were just using him or getting him into fucking situations that he shouldn't be getting into. A girlfriend. A nice, caring, stable, normal woman who seemed to really like him. To really fucking care about him too. Get him fucking medical help and psychological help and therapy. A lot of things that Jay hadn't been able to put himself through – not with the commitment Mouse had in putting together the pieces in his life. But he'd helped Greg find those pieces. He'd stood by him. And, he helped him find value and meaning again.

Fuck. That. All of that - it'd been more than Jay felt he'd been able to do for himself a lot of days.

And now he was just going to throw it all away? Walk away from it? Why? What for? Because he carried fucking guilt about them making it home safe and friends who didn't. Because that was something they were going to carry with them. For life. That and more. Because it wasn't just those who didn't make it. It was the people that those soldiers – friends, brothers, colleagues, men – left behind. And it was all the things they did and didn't do in getting to that point.

The things they carried …

Jay didn't even know where to start. He started with the list of the material items. The pack. The boots. The gear. The uniform. Flag and country.

But that's not what you carried when you got home. It's not what still hung off your shoulders. That kept weighing you down. That still made you feel like you were trudging through that sand. Sinking it it. The sun beating down. The wind and the dust and it like razor blades against you sink and in your eyes. It burned.

And that was over-simplifying it too.

But he didn't know how to express the rest of it. Not while still being a man. Not without admitting what was really going on inside him. The parts of him he hide deep inside and liked to pretend he learned how to deal with. That he didn't need more therapy or medication. All he needed was purpose. The fucking job. And he had that. And it was enough.

And he'd tried to give Mouse that. He'd tried so fucking hard. And he thought it'd worked. Greg had come such a long way. So far. He was doing so well.

And it wasn't enough. He still wanted to go back. To all of that. To the black and the white that really wasn't so fucking black and white. War never was. It wasn't us and them. And it was loud and scary. And it wasn't just a job you did. You didn't close the barn doors at the end of the day.

You didn't close the barn doors years later. They were still fucking open and he was still trying to figure out how to herd all the fucking livestock that had escaped back into their pens. He was still trying to figure out how to plant crops and irrigate them and to get them to grow in a way that they'd be edible. That there'd be life there. For the entire fucking property to look functional on the outside to passersby. That they'd buy their milk there.

And usually he thought he was doing a decent job at that even though he knew he was feeling. He thought he was figuring it out. He was dealing.

Until Erin touched his cheek and told him – reminded him – what he was carrying was real. Until she reminded him that she knew – even with all the shit he left unsaid. All the conversations he avoided with her. The things he tried to hide. And he hated that. He hated that he'd let her get that close – move that far in, see that many cracks – until she reminded him again that she was there to help carry it.

Mouse might be leaving. But he still had her. His best friend. And as much as she didn't know – she wasn't there – she did know. And he'd spent the past months telling her the same things. That you have to let people make their moves. That there's no way you're going to stop them if that's what they want. If it's what they are going to do. So you just have to position yourself so you're with the one thing in your life that wasn't going to come and go. And for him – that was Erin.

He had to trust that. Believe it.

Because it wasn't Mouse. He'd wanted Mouse to be one of those people. One of those rocks that stayed in his life. His real brother. His true one. A friend in blood. Through blood.

But it didn't mean he could control him.

Even if Mouse was being controlled. Because who the fuck would let him re-enlist? Brain damaged? PTSD? Past history of drug abuse? Felony record? What fucking game were they at? This wasn't supposed to happen. It shouldn't be happening. But it had. Because it was war and they weren't exactly turning people away. Even the ones that maybe they should. The ones they already had used. Had drained.

Jay couldn't go back. He wouldn't. It wasn't the right move for him. It wasn't then. And it definitely wasn't. He wasn't a born solider – even if he was a soldier.

He was more than that. He had more than that. He had reason to be there. To not come-and-go. To not leave people at home waiting to have those eyes – those looks. Erin. Ethan. Even Hank. They already had that look in their eyes. They didn't need an added layer to it. And neither did Will.

So he'd tried to calm. He did calm. He listened to Erin – his friend, his soon-to-be wife. He'd heard her. He'd felt her against him. And instead of stewing on Greg's choices, he'd somehow let the alcohol of the evening find him instead and knock him out.

And he'd slept. Somehow. Maybe more deeply than he thought since he hadn't heard Voight and the clock was pushing past 7:30 with no signs of life in the rest of the house.

Jay had been more than a little surprised that Erin wanted to go over to Voight's place that night – after they were done drinking in the bar and saying their goodbyes. His first official but he'd probably be drawn into more than that. Though, he also just wanted to close the door on it. He didn't want to have to keep revisiting it. To draw it out longer than needed. To make it hurt more than it already did. To make it more confusing.

They hadn't been over to Voight's much. Not since Justin. This was the first time they'd slept there. Any other night that likely would've felt awkward but he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't over thought about where they were. Maybe it was better that that had been their first night there. There were other things to think about and deal with. To whisper about in the dark, quiet, echo-y house.

But Jay knew the real reason they were there was because it was Justin's birthday on Monday – and it had to fall on Columbus Day this year. Both Hank and Ethan were off school, and Jay was pretty sure that Erin was scared that one or both of them was going to fall off some sort of emotional deep-end with that. So she was there to supervise that. Or maybe to try to be some sort of support – without labeling it that way.

They'd provided some lame excuse, that Jay was sure was transparent to Voight. That both their apartments were packed. That they didn't get possession of the house until the middle of the week. That they didn't have a U-Haul booked until next weekend. And that was all true. But it wasn't like their beds or the couches were in boxes. It wasn't like they couldn't get takeout or that dealing with cleaning and packing some last minute dishes and pots was a big deal. But she'd strung it along like they'd get a better sleep in a bed at the house. That was likely the biggest lie of them all. Though, maybe it hadn't been seeing as he did sleep through and Erin was still passed out.

Apparently so was Eth. Or at least there was no sign of him and the dog was sitting at Voight's feet as he paged through the paper. So it wasn't like Eth had Bear out on an early Saturday walk.

Voight just gave him a glance from his coffee and the examination of the news. "Morning," he rasped.

The guy had left the bar earlier than them – only staying for one drink while they were near the last to leave. Just leaving Mouse and Erica there alone – together – at the end. Erica was trying to be supportive. She'd given some smiles during the evening. But there was that haunted look about her where Jay knew that either way this wasn't going to end well. That she'd decide she wasn't an army wife – that that wasn't the relationship or the man she'd bought into. Or that Mouse would come back a changed man – not the man she'd fallen for, maybe not the man she'd ever had to know – and she wouldn't be able to live with that. Or worse, no man would come home at all. And thinking about that – all of it – made Jay have a couple more drinks than his usual.

But Voight made absolutely no comment about them arriving on his doorstep the night before and Erin feeding him the line about packing and the move. Knowing he likely smelled of alcohol. That Voight had seen him drinking more than he liked seeing him drinking earlier that night – because he was supposed to be setting the example and guideline for Erin. That if Erin was going to be stopping at two – that he should be too. But he'd had way more than two.

His head was still ringing a bit from it. He could tell he'd been drinking the night before but he wasn't entirely hungover. Though, he still likely would've been more comfortable in his own house. Or at least Erin's condo. Their condo. For now. For a few more days until they really did have their own house.

But Voight had bit his tongue – though still pushed it into his cheek – the night before just as much as he was that morning about his appearance. He just seemed to be trying to accept – or make – any of this as normal as any of it ever could be.

So instead he just gave a grunt and jutted his head back toward the counter in a silent indication that the coffee was still hot.

"Thanks …," Jay muttered and padded over, retrieving a mug out of a cupboard that he hadn't gone into for months but things never changed their place in Voight's house and somehow that made things seem more normal. Or at least natural. Formed body memory. Reach for the cupboard, grab the mug, pour the coffee.

He moved back over to the table and sat down across from Voight. Knew he could go sit somewhere else – the front room, the dining room – but that would likely come across as weird and rude. Supposed Voight was putting in some effort to make this less weird, so he could do the same. Supposed too they hadn't really said more than a handful of sentences to each other for a couple months now – and usually just in a work capacity – so maybe they had more than a few things they should talk about.

Voight glanced up at his arrival from his reading. It wasn't the paper he was reading, it was the ads.

That made Jay smile a bit, though, he brought his coffee up to hide it. It was so fucking weird how that family read the ads. All of them. Erin did it too. She sat looking at the fucking newspaper ads and junk mail and flyers. The fucking discounts and coupons. That she wouldn't ever use but looked at anyway. It was even more ridiculous seeing Voight do it, because he knew Voight didn't go to grocery stories. He went to all these fucking little stores – his butcher, his baker, his fucking candlestick maker … his guy for everything. There wasn't much point in seeing what was on sale where. Not for this family. Because they just did things – including shopping – their way.

And even if you took that out of it, who the fuck looked at ads anymore? Weren't flyers available online? Didn't everyone just shop online anyway? Weren't there apps for price matching?

But he had a pretty good idea what Voight's reaction to any of that would be. He was a luddite. Even sometimes at work, he preferred the old school way. The if it ain't broke, don't fix it way.

He must've seen the grin Jay had tried to hide, though, and gave him a smack. Clearly wasn't impressed. Or maybe he was just taking up space. Looked like he had some sort of fucking method for his flyer viewing. They were all sorted into neat piles.

"Got Best Buy?" Jay asked instead, trying to divert the look he was getting.

He got another smack but Voight reached and sorted through a stack of paper and then tossed the flyer in his direction.

Jay stared at the front. Flatscreens – frontpage. Score. Though, they weren't exactly what he wanted. He flipped through a bit, giving Voight a glance. He was watching him.

"I want to get a new TV for the townhouse," he muttered and looked back at the ad.

"Don't you both got TVs?" Voight put to him.

Jay shrugged. "Four levels in the townhouse."

"Need one for every floor?"

Jay just made a noise and didn't answer.

"Gonna get one for the kitchen and can too?"

Jay gave him a glance. "Was going to settle with the family room, front room and bedroom."

Voight grunted and gave his head a shake. "TVs in the master are a bad idea."

Jay glanced up at him again. "Why's that?"

Voight shrugged and looked back at his own flyer. "Want her all dreamy-eyed at Clooney or you?"

Jay made a small sound of amusement that. Sometimes the guy could be human. He'd give him that. "Don't think Clooney's her type. And he doesn't got nothing on me anyway."

"Mmm …," Voight grunted and gave no comment. But the lack of comment was enough to Jay to glance at him. To process the TV location analysis a bit. Maybe the guy had a point. Maybe.

Jay was still in his own struggle of keeping his distance versus learning from Voight. Right now it felt more like he was supposed to get his distance and than some. Hard to measure when you were engaged to his daughter, helped care for his son, bought a house six blocks over, and he was also your boss. Though, he usually liked to just tell himself that the learn from him part was at least easy. That was reserved for work.

The thing with that, though, was that he found more than he wanted to that sometimes when Voight let himself be human – when you saw him as a man or a father or a husband – and not just some cop that had dragged around a sorts of rhetoric and baggage along behind him like the fucking chains on Marley, Jay actually learned a lot from him. More than he wanted to admit. Or think about. That he definitely didn't want to dwell on.

But it reminded him – over and over again – that he hadn't had a father growing up even though he'd grown up in a home with a father. That he hadn't seen what a husband and wife really were – even though he hadn't grown up in a 'broken home'. His home was sure as fuck broken in a hell of a lot of other ways. And, maybe he was still learning all the intricacies of being a man – even though he was a man. His own man. Even though he'd had other examples. His grandfather. His brothers in the Rangers. Commanding officers in Afghanistan and now in CPD while he was coming up. But every now and then Voight would say something – or sometimes Olinsky or Antonio – that would give him this different perspective. This while different layer. This new spin on what being a man was. What being on the job meant when you were a husband and father. How you brought all those layers together and you were still a fucking human being. A good one. A decent one. A real man. With a real purpose and with your family at the fucking center of it all.

And Voight severed as this backward, ass-fuck reminder of that that was sometimes hard to deal with. All the decisions he made that Jay didn't approve of. These convictions he held that he didn't agree with. The lines and the grey. The shadows and the actions that made him want to keep his distance, only for them to come crumbling down when he saw the dad. The parent. The family man. And that was more telling than the man on the job. The man on the job was only one part of him.

And it made Jay wonder how much it was only one part of his self. Was it really just one part? Or had he made it more? Did he need it to be more? Was it being more – it being him – what made him survive? What gave him meaning? And if he was too much of the job, was he going to be able to be a family man? Did he even know what a family man was? And how to live that too? Be that?

Sometimes it seemed fucking complicated.

So instead, he just made his own joke. His own little jab. "CPD budget cuts got us down to Spy Gear and Nerf Guns?" he asked, in reference to the Toys R Us ad that Voight seemed pretty engaged in.

The guy gave him another glance and tossed the open flyer across to him. "Brick-tober," he put flatly.

Jay squinted at him. "What?" he asked and looked down at the open page. It was the Lego section.

"Brick-tober," Voight rasped more firmly and reached and tapped on the page. "Do it every year. Only month there's any discount on the Lego shit."

"Really?" Jay asked and gazed at the page again.

"Mmm …," Voight grunted. "Different couple lines twenty percent off every week. Jurassic Park ones this week. Usually do a buy two, get one free or some shit off or bonus little stocking stuffer set or whatever too. Last week of the month."

Jay glanced at him from taking in the ad. Jurassic World and some sort of fairy princess sets were on sale that week.

He didn't get that. Why did girls need pink and purple Lego? Why couldn't they just build Star Wars and City and robots and colorful bricks like everyone else? Erin had given a similar commentary when she'd been with him and Eth one time when they were picking up one of his monthly microfighter sets for good behavior and completed homework.

They'd had some long discussion after that about how they would and wouldn't raise a daughter – if they ever had one. One the list was she wouldn't get fairy princess elf Lego until she was old enough to say she wanted fairy princess elf Lego and not ninja knight castle Lego all on her own. But, Jay suspected that between him and Erin by the time the kid was old enough to fully express that, between brainwashing and genes, the girl was going to be one tough rumble-tumble tomboy who'd much prefer to be building race cars, listening to rock and roll, and playing flag football than she would be dressing up in her tiara and putting on make-up.

Though, he supposed it would be OK if he they got a girlie-girlie too. Not that he'd have the first clue how to raise a girlie-girlie. Let her do his hair and nails and go to work to get his balls busted? That'd likely be OK too. If he was doing it for his little princess – even if she didn't want to play with princesses.

"Christmas shopping already?" Jay asked, flipping to the next page. Videogames were on sale too. Though, it was a Toys R Us flyer. Obviously all toys all the time were what was going to be listed on sale.

"Mmm …," Voight grumbled and flipped open a Target flyer instead. "All the fucking sales are starting already. It's October."

"Yea … Erin said you like to get it done early …," he allowed. But he wasn't even looking at him. Who would've thought that Toys R Us might be a good place to get a deal on games and console bundles? Was seeing packages in the flyer that he hadn't been seeing anywhere else. Prices too. The games did have the buy two, get one free deal that Voight had referred to going on. Made him want to get the TV that came with the console more. Though, might make him a little more reluctant to give up said console to Eth.

"Not so much the last couple years," Voight muttered, flipping through the pages of his flyer quickly and almost violently. Clearly Target wasn't one of his go-to stores. Somehow that didn't surprise. Erin's assessment on Voight's chain store shopping preferences – if he ever brought himself to set foot in one - were Costco, Home Depot and CVS. If you couldn't get it there – you likely weren't going to get it. Jay actually thought that insight gave you just about everything you needed to know about Hank Voight. "Hopefully do better than three days before this year."

Jay allowed him a bit longer glance at that. "Getting him Brick-otber Lego?"

Voight just grunted. "Don't fucking know. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen – shitty age to get them anything. Still want toys but don't want to ask for the fucking toys so you don't know what the fuck they actually want. And the things they actually tell you they want – that you actually almost approve of - need you to drop a couple C-notes on it for some piece of shit electronic that's already outdated sitting in a box this big under the tree," he muttered, twisting his coffee cup as he held it hold up and took a long swig. He eyed him. "You and Erin getting him Lego?"

Jay made a little noise and shook his head, shrugging as he closed the Toys R Us flyer and set it aside, glancing back down at the open page in the Best Buy.

And that was the funny thing too. The fucked up reality. That for as much of a fucking tough guy that Voight could make himself out to be. The bad cop. The supposed monster who had all these fucking rumors around him. It was only part of the reality.

The other reality was he was a fucking single dad who was sitting quietly at his kitchen table on a Saturday morning – with the fucking ingredients to make bacon and eggs out on the counter, letting his kids sleep in a bit longer until he drew them awake with the smell of that cooking up – while looking at the toy store and electronic toy store ads and thinking about what to get his thirteen-year-old kid for Christmas already. Knowing that the sales had already started. Knowing that every year there was a fucking Lego sale in October. Knowing the things his kid wanted and liked and needed. And having money set aside to spend on any of that.

Even in the midst of all the rest of this bullshit. At work and in the family. In their tragedy. On the weekend of his oldest son's birthday who he'd just lost barely more than two months ago.

And that didn't make a monster.

If anything it made Jay feel like it'd been him who'd grown up with a monster. One that didn't know him. Or what he liked. Or what was going on with him. And he sure as fuck didn't care.

"Don't know," Jay finally muttered because it was the truth. "Haven't really talked about anything that far ahead."

Because that was the truth too. For all the big things that him and Erin had been flung head-first into talking about – topics and plans they'd long been avoiding – they now were trying to take things just a step at a time. Because doing it step-by-step made it manageable. Get the loan. Get pre-approved for a mortgage. Pick a house. Put in an offer. Get ready to move. Move. They could handle that.

It was when they started looking at it all beyond the step-by-step that one – or both – of them started spinning out. They'd get overwhelmed that they were suddenly going at a faster pace than what they'd been plodding along at for a year. What they'd been hinting and teasing at for nearly four. But that they were now having to make real – not just for them and their sanity, but for those around them.

"Hmm …," Voight allowed. "Yea … moving is enough."

And, yeah, it was. So no – he hadn't thought much about Christmas. He really hadn't thought too much beyond next weekend and getting them moved. But maybe he should.

He shouldn't be like Eth and not plan ahead because you'd established this morbid reality for yourself where life is just death. And that was his own guilt. It was his own way of carrying the things he carried. And it didn't make him any better than Mouse and this fucking ill-advised re-enlist that he might think was the right choice for him, but it sure was fuck wasn't the right choice for Jay.

He'd said he wanted to get ahead in the world. Move up in it. It was a conversation he'd had with Mouse. That they'd had together. And it'd felt like talk. It felt like a real bro session. Connected. There. They were on the same page.

Not now he knew they weren't. Now he knew that Mouse likely thought he was whining. That Mouse looked at him and still saw – or thought he saw – what he wanted. That Mouse watched Jay go out every single day. That he saw action every day. That he still did the job. That he still was the job. That he was still somehow a solider. While Mouse sat behind a desk.

The thing was that wasn't how Jay saw it. He did the job. He saw importance in his job. He felt a value in it. But he knew he had to shut down on the job. Turn off pieces of himself to do it. Every time he strapped on that thigh holster. Every time he looked through that sniper riffle – and pulled the trigger. That he took the kill shot. Over and over again. Blew another guys fucking brains out. Not in Afghanistan. In Chicago. In the city he grew up in. With people he saw every day on the streets he'd lived in.

It wasn't black and white. As much as it was. And it was fucking noisy. And it ate at him.

He saw action but maybe when he was in action he wasn't Jay. Maybe he was Halstead? But did he even relate parts of that to his name? To himself?

He wanted to say yes. That what he did had meaning. That he did it for the right reasons. But some days he wondered what good he was doing and who he was doing it for. And was he really just doing it for himself and in doing that was he really just burying himself deeper.

When he'd said he wanted to move up in the world – it hadn't been about the job. It hadn't been about action. It hadn't even been about getting a fucking condo of his own, which is what Mouse had interrpetted as. Or at least what he'd framed it as in that moment – in that conversation – because it was the easiest way to understand it. To even talk about it.

When he said it he meant not a condo but a home. He meant a family. He meant being loved and cared about. He meant having a reason – a fucking job – beyond the job.

So maybe he really had moved up in the world. Because he did have a lot of that. He was getting there. He thought Mouse had been too. With Erica. With the work he did and the contribution he made. But apparently it wasn't enough for Greg.

Jay wanted to believe it was enough for him. It was what he'd wanted his whole life. Because he wasn't born a soldier. He was born … to be … that man. Whatever that meant. The man Erin needed him to be? The man she brought out in him? The man she made him want to be? That the people around her made her want to be?

So maybe he should be thinking a little farther ahead. Maybe he should be thinking about what you get a woman like that for Christmas? Or if you get her little brother Lego for Christmas when he's thirteen? Or how the fuck to start saving up to take Ethan on a graduation trip when tickets to the fucking theme parks were more than a hundred bucks a day and his little kid was classified as an 'adult'?

Maybe he should be figuring out what he really wanted the wedding to look like since Erin had gone from wanting something to just wanting to sign on the dotted line? And even though he understood the why behind that, he wasn't sure it was what she really wanted. It wasn't something else he wanted her to look back on and regret how it'd played out.

But if he couldn't sort that out right now, at least right now maybe he should at least be taking note that October is actually Brick-tober, because maybe that's some pretty fucking vital information for him to store away for some day in the future when he was sitting in his kitchen on an autumn Saturday looking at ads too?

But Jay just nodded to Voight's comment. Because enough was a generous way of putting it.

It felt like they were bleeding money right now. Money that they didn't entirely have. They were making do. They had their loans. But, he had to admit, the whole experience of getting the loan and taking out a mortgage and dealing with all the costs and fees of everything involved in buying a house, taking possession of a house and moving and getting their lives set up there was definitely making him think and feel about money in a whole different way than he had up to that point in his adult life. The concept of disposable income – or savings – was quickly disappearing.

He shut the Best Buy ad and dropped it back on the stack that Voight had pulled it from.

"Two of you really all packed?" Voight asked.

Jay twisted the mug in his hand, gazing into the dark liquid. "Yea …"

"Which day you get possession?"

"Pick up the keys Thursday," Jay allowed.

Voight nodded and took another slow sip of his coffee. "And E says you're just using your truck and a U-Haul? No movers?"

"Yea …," Jay allowed with some discomfort because it still felt too much like Eth played the go-between between them and Voight. It was slowly getting better but it was another process that wasn't fast. And it was never going to be the same. It was always going to have some discomfort and awkwardness. It was going to be different. And it was probably going to get harder and stranger before any of it really settled – as the rest of everything that had been set in motion really did settle. "We've still got most of my stuff over at my place. Easier to just do it ourselves."

Voight grunted and kept eyeing him. "You got people helping?"

He gave a little shrug. "My brother. His girlfriend. Burgess."

"What about the real grunt work?" Voight put plainly.

Jay smiled a little bit at that. He wasn't sure how Erin, Kim or Will would appreciate being glossed over in their abilities to carry their own weight – and the weight of a couple sofas and mattresses – in a move. Though, he might have a point about Will. He didn't have any qualms about Erin and Kim getting the job done in short order.

"Ruzek might help out," he offered instead. "But can be a bit of a flake about these things."

Voight made an amused sound and raised his eyebrows at that with a slight shake of his head.

"You decide you need an extra couple sets of hands, offer still stands," Voight nodded at him. Again with the awkwardness of Jay knowing that Erin had already declined that offer.

"I think we'll be OK …," Jay allowed.

Voight nodded with a noted defeat that Jay was able to pick up on after having spent time around the guy. Hank had likely thought with their appearance there this weekend, he might've gotten his foot in the door. That he might've had a chance to get a bit more leeway. But if that was going to happen, it was going to have to be Erin that gave it to him. Not Jay. And Jay thought Voight understood that. He might still get it. They were there. That did count for something.

"Well, if you decide you want to get some of your shit – the boxes – moved over to her place this weekend," he tried instead, "can go help you sling shit around. Easier to play Tetris on moving day if you've got all the pieces lined up in one spot."

Jay met his eyes on that one, though, and allowed, "Maybe …"

Because, yeah, maybe that was another suggestion that made a lot of sense. Maybe that would make things a bit easier next weekend. Maybe he'd like to do that. But there was no maybe about him needing to see how Erin felt about Voight helping with that – about Voight being in her apartment. Even if Erin was upstairs sleeping in his house, in a bed bought by her adopted parents in the bedroom she'd spent her teens and first year or two of her twenties in.

"You know if this … packing situation … means she's planning on sleeping her until the move?" Voight put to him with a little smack that made the obvious clear – that he'd seen through it from the moment he said it.

Jay gave a little shrug and looked down at his coffee again, reaching to retrieve the Home Depot ad. Looking at paint and nails and picture frame hangers would likely be more acceptable potential expenditures these days. "Think she was at least planning on this weekend," he muttered. "Maybe Monday."

Voight gave a louder smack at that and Jay met his eyes, sitting a bit straighter as he did.

"Don't need a babysitter," he put flatly.

"We know," he acknowledged passively, looking back to the flyer in an attempt to make clear that the suggestion was ridiculous, even though they both knew that was pretty much exactly what Erin was doing. "Erin picked up an OT shift for tonight. I'm scheduled for coverage on the holiday." Voight just smacked even more disapproval and Jay glanced up. "What? Big plans? Figured you and Eth would just be watching the NLDS all weekend."

"Watching the Cubbies don't take all weekend," Voight put to him flatly.

Jay shrugged. "We interrupting some kind of big plans?"

Voight gave him a long gaze but then smacked one and rubbed at his face. He hadn't shaved yet that morning, which was strange. But maybe telling that Erin had made the right call on wanting to keep eyes on him and Eth that weekend. Stranger too because the bit of scrub was completely lacking in color. Just white. And it made him look a hell of a lot older than he was.

"Was going to take Magoo to cast some lines but don't think he's doing too well today. All these fucking temperature fluctuations. Body and immune system can't keep up. Damn Indian Summer."

Jay gave a little nod and looked down the hallway back to the stairs. The dog had gotten up and headed in that direction so it likely meant that he'd heard some stirring or he knew Hank was talking about the kid and had decided to go check on him.

Jay didn't think it was just the temperature fluctuations that were hard for Eth to keep up with anymore. The kid had looked exhausted and haggard for months. Fucking gaunt. Almost like a junkie. These dark circles under his eyes and this pale skin. And he just looked like clay most of the time.

There was a clatter as from at the stairs and a flash of metal. Jay tensed and started to rise but Voight held out a hand to stop him.

"He's fine," he said. "Been fumbling with his crutches on the steps."

Jay let himself settle but kept his eyes on the stairs then – what he could see from that angle. And he could see and hear the slow progress of Eth getting the rest of the way down the stairs and then clicking down the hallway. His eyes setting questioning on Halstead.

He stood rumbled in the kitchen door, still in his sleep clothes, which also likely confirmed that he was feeling off. He wiped at his eyes and squinted at Jay some more.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered but it was hard to tell. He sounded really congested. So clearly it wasn't just the usual 'not doing so hot' that Voight felt was afflicting his son that day.

Jay shrugged. "Slept over. Thought we'd hang out with you guys some this weekend."

Eth examined him. He clearly wasn't buying that either. He knew what day Monday was too. He knew where Justin – and Olive – were supposed to be the night before. But weren't. But he didn't comment, instead he just shifted his eyes to his dad and then stooped slightly as Bear butted his head into his knee, bending and scruffing at his ears.

"How you feeling?" Voight put to his son.

"Not very good," Eth managed. He barely had a voice. He at least had laryngitis. And it wasn't likely from screaming at the television was the Cubs won Game 1 of the Divisional Series.

"Don't sound too good," Voight graveled at him. He just always sounded like he had laryngitis. When you could even understand a word that came out of his mouth. He held up his one arm and gestured. "Say morning …"

Eth let out a little huff at that but it didn't work. It just sounded like a wheeze. A bad one. But he moved himself over to his dad and let Voight embrace him, rubbing at his back and then holding his hand still there. "Take a deep breath for me, Magoo."

Eth did and even with sitting across the table, Jay could see the way it was catching in his chest as his back rose with the attempt to expand his lungs. Hank rubbed at his back a little more and then dropped his arm.

"OK …," he allowed and let his son rise.

He gave him a concerned frown and reached to clutch and test each of his hands – which Jay knew from experience were either ice blocks on his more 'normal' days or were more likely clammy if he was starting to flare or in a full-blown exacerbation. Voight's hand ran up his son's arm and felt at Eth's cheeks. They actually had some color in them that morning, flushed red and rosy in hot little circles on his cheekbones. They got a little pat before his hand landed on his son's forehead and flipped to front and back in testing the temperature there.

"You hungry?" he asked as his hand fell away.

Ethan's eyes traced over to the counter and gazed at the bacon and eggs. His eyes shifted back to his dad. "Pancakes?" he asked almost pleadingly. "Blueberry?"

Hank reached and clutched at his hand again, patting at it with his other. "OK," he agreed. "Gonna put on some hot water, though. Going to down some lemon and honey, OK, Magoo?"

Eth gave a weak nod. Voight gave him a little pat at the side of his hip, an effective light smack in the ass. But the kid apparently didn't feel well enough to care. "Go lay on the couch 'til breakfast. Pick us out a Saturday flick."

Ethan didn't give a response. He just started away, Bear galloping after him.

Voight gave his head a little shake and turned back to the table, to retrieve his coffee mug and then rose. "Think we'll be spending the weekend with your brother," he graveled. "Sounds like it's settling into his chest. Last thing we fucking need is this turning into pneumonia and him ending up an exacerbation. Not doing another fucking round of steroids on the kid."

Which Jay knew was a lie. That Voight would do whatever the doctors recommended to try to get his son well. That he'd cling to that. To the end. And he'd go to any length to get that. He'd seen it before. He'd seen the start reality of the lengths he went to. Repeatedly.

But, he'd hope that it was just a chest cold. For all their sakes. That Voight had made a correct assessment that temperatures jumping from the high 80s to the low 40s in a single day – let alone doing the grind of it for days and weeks on end – was hard on even the healthiest person at this time of year as the seasons changed. But add in multiple sclerosis and a weakened immune system and vulnerability to infection – and Eth had just managed to pick up some bug. That id' pass. Maybe it'd take a little longer than most people but it'd pass.

Still, he let his eyes settle through the doorway into the front room, watching as Eth retrieved the blanket and the remotes and tried to make himself comfortable on the sofa. He didn't look too comfortable. He just looked tired and broken.

And all this just felt like another thing that needed to pass for the kid. But yet another thing that he shouldn't have to be dealing with. That he shouldn't be waiting for to pass. Not on top of everything else.

He shifted his eyes back to Voight, who'd started retrieving some of the ingredients to make up the requested pancakes that Jay didn't believe for a second that Eth would actually eat after they were made.

He stood and took his own mug over to the sink. Rinsed it out and filled the kettle for Voight, setting it on the stove and twisting the burner.

Voight made a small sound of acknowledgement and thanks at that move.

Jay looked at him. "Sarge," he offered, "I was wondering if you'd told him about Mouse yet?"

Voight's eyes stayed on him for a long beat. His tongue snaking around the front of his teeth.

"Been hoping that Mouse would tell him about Mouse," he finally said, and went back to cracking an egg.

Jay let out a slow breath. "I'm not sure that's going to happen," he said. Not right now. Not in the way Ethan likely needed to hear. Or with enough time to wrap his head around it before the guy just disappeared from his life. "But I'd like to be there when you talk to him about it," Jay said.

Because he knew Eth would have questions and concerns and worries. He knew that this kid was in a dark mindset right now. That he was preoccupied with all their mortalities. That hearing that the one guy who he thought got him – the guy who he thought was just like him, who made him think that he could have a productive adult life and career – was now going to be another person with a gun strapped to him and even more pointed at him, wasn't going to rest well. That it was just going to screw up the kid even more than he already was.

But when Mouse was thinking about what was right for him – he hadn't thought about that. He'd just thought about what was right for him. Maybe that was telling about how he'd grown and hadn't grown. What he'd dealt with and hadn't dealt with. And what progress he'd made and hadn't made. Maybe it told Jay all those same things about himself too.

Because it wasn't something he could do to Erin or to Ethan. Or to the rest of the team. Or to his brother. Or even in a way to Olive and Henry now. But Mouse was doing it to Intelligence. He was doing it to Erica. He was doing it to Ethan and to all those other kids he'd connected with in his Robotics coaching. And as much as the school and the club and CPD were likely going to label his decision as heroics, Jay wasn't sure he could.

Because Mouse was running away. He was just making it look better than some people. He was masking his guilt and his fear and his indifference to the feelings of those around him, in a veil of courage. And even though there was courage involved – sometimes the sacrifice came out of stupidity. He'd already been brave. He'd already given for his country. He still was – in his job, this job, this city. But now because he felt guilt about those left behind, that he struggled with him being home safe, that he hated himself for starting to build up the things that others they'd fought with were missing out on, he was punishing himself and those around him. He was running. And he was running hard and fast while spouting rhetoric about being born a soldier.

And Jay knew that line wouldn't fly with Eth. He knew that Eth would see through that. That he would see the fear and he'd feel it too. He'd understand what was behind it. And Mouse would become just another person who let him down. Another pseudo older brother who disappeared from his life. Another absence.

And Jay needed to make that blow as easy as possible. He needed to try to figure out some way to frame it in a way that would make this better.

Because Eth didn't need to have that look in his eyes more than that look had already grown there. The way it was breeding there.

Because Eth didn't need yet another thing that he didn't deserve. Yet another thing for him to wait – to hope – would pass.

When it wouldn't. It never would. Because life wasn't fair. But Jay wasn't sure Ethan needed to understand that so fully at thirteen.

Maybe no one should.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: So I lied about the order I was writing things. Don't worry the other stuff will still get written. Eventually.**

 **Not getting many reviews lately. Some readership is down. You might want to check if you missed the last chapter (Chapter 19 - Lines of Communication) as it was posted in less than 24 hours, so no bump or notification. Might want to check the one before that (Chapter 18 - Final Straw) too.**

 **Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated.**

 **Will likely be a fun Cubs chapter or two coming up as well. Thing the Cubs winning will be good for this family at this point in their lives and relationships.**


	23. Things You Do

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank sighed in the door to the master, looking in at his boy. Wasn't exactly surprised to see him in there. Could tell from the way the kid's hacking was the echoing down the stairs that he'd moved there. Hadn't heard the move. But figured E made it while the water from the can was still flushing. Blocked out his unsteady gait. But nothing could block out the way he was coughing up a lung.

Didn't exactly care that his son had apparently seen fit to claim a place in his bed. Him and Camille had always had a bit of an open door policy with the master bedroom – most of the time. Just like the rest of the house. But didn't mean he didn't like getting some heads up that his son wanted to invade his space – his wife's space.

Kid clearly knew too, because he sensed his presence and rolled off his side a bit, casting him a look over his shoulder.

"I wanted to be near mom," Magoo managed to get out weakly – broken and in barely a whisper. Not much of voice. How could he with the way he was hacking and how congested he sounded.

So Voight just allowed him a little nod. Because that was a comment he didn't much know how to argue with. Didn't know what to say. But did know that he did his best not to rob his youngest from the moments where he wanted to or needed to or found ways to feel close to his mom. And what little boy didn't just want their ma when they were sick.

Knew that even as an adult man, if he felt the starts of a cold coming on all he could think about was his own mom's chicken veggie soup. Couldn't say his batches could compare to hers in the least – not in his childhood memories – but still seemed to do more than the trick in fending off any damn cold that thought it could get him down. Still, even as a fucking fifty-five-year-old man, he'd still take the chance to go over to Mom's for a mug of the soup if that were an option. But it wasn't.

Was enough for him to know, though, that if he felt that way as an adult – husband and father – his thirteen-year-old kid who'd spent the better part of his life in and out of hospitals was going to have times where he just wanted his ma to be there to make it better. And maybe it was good that he still thought of her – still found ways – to let her help ease the burden of it. Camille would like knowing that she still did that – in some way – even though she couldn't be there.

"Stay put," he told his boy and went back down the hall – to his boys' room – where he'd set up the vaporizer for the kid. Not that he thought it was doing much of anything. But he'd prefer to keep up the illusion that the thing worked some sort of magic.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it with a bit of a sigh. Didn't much like doing this but also didn't much think he wanted to leaving the house with the way E was coughing at this point. So he picked her name and hit call. Waited. See what happened.

She actually picked up, though. That surprised him. She was picking up more lately but it wasn't back to the normal – where he'd get her about 95 percent of the time. And the five percent he didn't he knew she was either indisposed – on the can, up to no good, with Halstead - or tied up with work. Or he had a pretty good idea of what he'd said or done that had her ignoring his calls on a particular evening or weekend.

These days he didn't really know. He knew. The overarching reason. But on a given day? Couldn't really tell anymore. But at least they'd gotten it back to about a fifty-fifty game. Didn't exactly put the odds in his favor but was a hell of a lot better than the first month or so there where anything from her outside of District, he had to hear from Magoo. Or fucking worse, turn it into a real game of telephone with his son passing messages along between the two of them.

It was such fucking bullshit. Such a fucking ridiculous waste of time. But he had to respect her feelings. Treat her like an adult. Take the lumps she was giving.

And at least right now it was better. Marginally. This weekend she seemed to actually picking up. Answering. Present. Knew what that was all about. Didn't much like it. But, supposed, he'd just take it as maybe some sort of stepping stone.

Get through the weekend without telling her off about it. Without telling her how fucking transparent it was. How he didn't fucking need a babysitter. That he was fucking fine. And that he could take care of his son – mentally, emotionally, and physically – without her fucking interference.

But he blurt any of that at her – gave he the looks – and they'd be back to square one. The fucking fight and tug of war over who was who and what was what with E. Forcing Magoo to take sides and then pompel them when he decided he didn't like their side so much and wanted to move back on over to the other. Over and over again.

All of them were fucking yo-yos anymore.

Wasn't this weekend that would make him a headcase. It was just the whole damn thing. All of it.

But he knew he'd do better if he just framed it as Erin having her heart in the right place. That she was looking out for her baby brother. Frame it as maybe she wanted to be around family that day – that weekend – too, because it was stirring up memories for her too. Maybe even fucking frame it that she gave some shits about how he was feeling too.

Voight didn't know how much he bought into any of that. Didn't really like telling himself tales to get through it either. But, either way, better to bite his tongue, keep a level head, and just take it all for what it was, and hope that it might help them get back into something that felt a bit fucking easier for the family.

Because at least his girl had come home. Had slept over. Had brought the boyfriend-fiancée-husband. And now she'd picked up the fucking phone on the first try. So that counted for something too.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

He shook his head, giving his eyes a bit of a roll. She could be so fucking melodramatic sometimes. He stooped to pull the vaporizer's plug out of the wall.

"What time you supposed to get getting off the beat?" he asked.

She likely thought he wasn't noticing any of that either. That he was fucking oblivious to the fact that her and Halstead were suddenly picking up a whole lot of extra shifts. Volunteering for the safer communities patrols. Putting on the blue and going out in uniform for the night – whenever they weren't scheduled on the overnight call-list, it seemed. That they were taking a lot of these fucking security, construction pylon and fucking crossing guard details too. Volunteering with him to be put on weekend or night rotation or on-call too. To be scheduled for tour on the holidays to get the extra pay bump.

Real convenient their sudden interest was coinciding with their fucking mortgage. And part of him wanted to be proud. Wanted to say that that's just the way the cookie crumbled. They were adults. They were cops. You ended up taking shifts to be able to afford the things you wanted and to support the family were making. That was life. And as a father, he was proud that she understood that. That neither her or her partner – on the job or in life – were just looking for handouts. Expecting all the shit in life to just work out their way without the effort.

Another part of him, though, knew that they could've made it easier on themselves. That they could've taken the money from Camille's life insurance and put it down on the house. Brought down their mortage payments some. Sure, they likely would've still needed to pick up some shifts. They were still going to have to work for the things they wanted and needed for their lives and home and family – but in the immediacy, it would've just been a little bit easier.

Brunt of buying a home was a big one for any young people – young couple, young family. Knew Erin and Jay weren't as young as a lot of people were back when him and Camille were tying the knot and buying a home. But society had changed. People weren't getting hitched and getting their first home right out of high school or college anymore. You weren't dealing with all of that in your early-twenties anymore. Perfectly normal to not be doing it until your early-thirties. What kids could afford to do that in Chicago anymore in their twenties? And on a fucking CPD salary?

Nah, it just wasn't realistic. Society had gone and made it the norm that this 'delayed adulthood' thing took kids right into their thirties. Not that he thought Erin or Halstead had much had their adulthood delayed. But they both were going to still have some growing up to do now that they were moving in together, settling down, starting a family. Different than when you were on your own. A lot to learn. About yourself and each other and life. But figured they were pretty much right on track. In a nice fucking normal sphere for people in their age bracket. Their demographic. They were doing OK.

It was just that if they let him help a bit, he could've helped make them a bit easier. Not even with the fucking cash to put towards the house or the moving expenses or some fucking newer furniture or property taxes or utility hook-ups or whatever the fuck they decided.

They could be letting him help with the move. He'd have been willing to pay for a truck for them to take that off their plates – even though he knew they were both more than capable. Still willing to go and help, if they really did want to save the cash and do it themselves. He was more than capable too of hauling a couple sofas around and dollying some boxes.

Real good at pounding some nails in the walls wherever his daughter wanted them too. Done that for her at the condo. Though, she'd been so fucking impatient about him using a measuring tape and level. But that'd only convinced him it was a damn good thing she'd let him do the job of getting the first round of artwork on the walls or who fucking knows what they would've looked like if she'd gone at it all hodge-podge just eyeballing it. There was a fucking difference between being a good shot – having good aim – and using a fucking hammer to get pictures lined up on a wall. But explain that to a woman in her twenties – especially when it's your know-it-all, sassy daughter who knows how to bust your balls just by giving you that look and raising that eyebrow.

Could unpack boxes labeled 'kitchen'. Wash the newsprint off the glasses and dishes. Doubted she'd think to do that. Somehow doubted that Halstead would either – unless there were visible smudges on the things. They'd just be throwing them in the cupboards without a second thought.

He could go out and buy them a grill for one of these decks and patios that this townhouse – that he hadn't yet been allowed to see but had been given a briefing by Magoo, who'd also ferreted out the address for him so he could look up the listing on his own and get some of the details and see some of the photos of the place, even though he knew Erin likely wouldn't be too thrilled he'd done that either. Could stay out of their way and just work on putting that thing together for them. Could buy them some steaks to grill up on it for their first meal in their new place. Fuck, he could gift them the first grocery run to get the cupboards and fridges stocked a bit for while they were starting out.

He'd helped Justin and Olive with their move. Spent a bit of money. Helped them get established. Given them Cami's insurance money to get them more settled. Give the more leeway as they settled into dealing with all the payment schedules and fees that come with adulthood – aka homeownership.

He'd always intended to do the same for Erin. Camille would've too.

And Camille, in the very least, would've wanted them to be using the money to help them with this. She would.

Maybe that's why it fucking hurt. Because he knew Erin was doing this as some sort of message to him. She was making a statement. And she sure as fuck as making a statement. A big one. One that had smacked him good and hard. But the smack was stinging because it didn't just feel like she was punishing him – she was punishing Cami too, whether Erin saw it that way or not.

It just felt like she was going against Camille's wish. Some sort of disrespect to her memory. And that hurt. Because Cami had put so much into raising Erin too. And Cami would've been so happy and excited about the engagement and them buying this townhouse. Knew that them buying in Little Italy had a whole lot to do with the immediate circumstances but knew that Cami would've loved that too. And, that woman would've had a fucking crush on Halstead too. At least compared to any of the other doofuses that had tossed peddles at their girl's window over the years.

But he'd managed to check himself from spitting that at Erin too. Been hard. He was used to saying what he thought without worrying too much about his audience. They didn't like it – there was the door.

Thing was, Erin already had her foot more than out the door. It was him who was fucking trying to jam his foot in the door to keep her from slamming it shut. So he was listening to her. And he was listening to his wife's ever presence nattering somewhere in the back of his subconscious. The 'get your head out of your ass, Hank'. The 'that's not how you talk to your daughter, Hank'. The 'pull it together, Hank.'

So he was. Just biting his tongue until it bleed when it came to her. When it came to Olive too. To all these fucking women in his life. The ones that he needed to keep close but the only way he knew how to do that was to give them fucking space and hope that eventually they'd come back to him. To the family.

That they'd get there.

And maybe he was slowly starting to get there with Erin. So hadn't said more about the life insurance. Wouldn't. Maybe he'd touch on it again when it felt more like they were on good terms. That she was willing to have a real conversation with him about it. That she was willing to hear him out. Because there were still going to be lots of bills to pay that the money could be put toward. Could still make a bulk payment against the mortgage. None of that was going to disappear overnight. Wasn't like the window of opportunity had suddenly passed just because she wouldn't take the cash now. And if she wouldn't take it now and she wouldn't take it later, then fine, he'd wait until there grandkids on the scene and he'd do his best to filter the cash to them that way. Because Cami would be just as happy with that as she would it going toward a house.

It'd work out. With time. Things tended to be like that. Didn't mean it worked out the way you wanted. But time tended to turn and spin things the way they needed to turn in spine for you to get a grip on them. So let them twist away.

"Supposed to be out of here around 11:30," Erin told him. "Why?"

Hank rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead and gazed at the vaporizer. The vapor fluid in the top hadn't gone down much yet. Likely was going to make a damn mess when he picked it up. He sighed and grabbed at some of the tissues off Eth's nightstand to try to sop it up out of the slot so he wasn't having to mop it up off his floors.

"You planning on coming back here for the night?" he asked, giving his watch a glance. She still had about two hours on shift and then any paperwork. If she was going to change out before heading home. Likely be pushing one by the time she did show. Maybe he should just make the run himself. Magoo would likely be OK for thirty minutes on his own. Was just laying in bed anyways.

"I was going to …" she said speculatively. He could hear the pounding music in the background. Doing all this extra security at these concerts lately. She likely didn't mind it. Free shows. To a point. Not that you really got to see it or listen to it. But she liked music and likely didn't have much chance to get out to it anymore.

Not in the way she used to. That kid and her fucking fake IDs. Took a while for him to accept – and trust - it wasn't for booze and partying – it was to get into shows. There was a period in her life that the kid must've been going to a show just about every night of the week. And how the fuck do you parent that? Sure wasn't no good way to parent that without getting labeled as a tight-ass. Or being told to kiss her ass. All attitude.

And really only so much he could say, because by the time she was that age – and had earned that level of trust – he knew that at the same age, he was pulling the same or similar bullshit. Wasn't like he didn't have his own fake IDs as a kid. Wasn't like him and Cami didn't sneak into their share of shows around the city. So what the fuck do you really say? Not a hell of a lot. Go with giving an unimpressed look – repeatedly – and hope that she gets the point and maintains the level of trust without going over the deep-end.

And for the most part she had. Some banana peels but teen-aged kids, college-aged kids – that happens. Couldn't even blame it on the way Erin had come up – the shit Bunny had put her through and made her do. Justin had it a whole lot better than Erin growing up from day one and he'd still found his banana peels to slip on. Still had his fake IDs not-so-discretely hidden and his fucking vodka in Snapple bottles like he was pulling the wool over anyone's eyes.

"Can you stop at the CVS on the way in and pick up a couple of your brother's scripts?" he asked, as he sopped up the vapor's supposedly steaming liquid that hadn't done a whole lot of steaming yet.

"Hank," she muttered into his ear, "it's going to be closed."

"It's Saturday," he provided.

"And you think they just are a twenty-four hour pill dispensing machine?" she put to him. He made an unimpressed noise. "They close at ten. You know that."

"Your brother is hacking away," he said, purposely adjusting the phone against his ear and holding it toward the door as he went and tossed the mucky Kleenex in the trash. Make sure she got a good listen to it. He brought the phone back to tuck against his shoulder. "Want to pick up the expectorant and another one of his inhalers to have on standby. Only a couple puffs left."

"Med's dispensary didn't give that stuff to you?" she said with some annoyance.

"Just the antibiotics," he muttered, "and gave him a shot of the expectorant but think it's about wearing off. Told 'em still had some puffs on the puffer but was wrong. There's a refill on it. Just tell Tak –"

"Hank," she cut him off, "it is 9:30 on a Saturday night – on a long weekend. Tak is not going to be there to be your personal pharmacist."

"They have fucking electronic records," he put back to her.

She sighed into his ear. "Hank, they'll be closed when I get off. Where's Jay? Send him."

"Don't know," Hank put. "Don't manage his calendar."

"He's not there?" Erin said with even more disgust. Likely thought he'd kicked him out but Halstead had taken leave all on his own. Which was fine. Fucking awkward having to sit in his own house with his future son-in-law playing some sort of jail warden.

"No," Hank rasped.

Her annoyance was clear through the phone. Could feel her rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "OK, well, he's likely just over at Will's," she said, "watching the game."

Yet another Halstead that he had living in far too close of radius to him. Be strange when Erin and Jay did settle into the townhouse with him and E just there the Near West, his girl and her husband-to-be in Little Italy and Halstead's brother just next door in University Village. All of them within walking distance of each other. Blocks. Some sort of fucking nuclear extended family. Been even more interesting if Olive and H had stuck around in Pilsen – just south of them. Had her aunt there too.

But it'd be good. If everyone didn't shuffle around with time. If Erin and Jay had some kids. Having grandpa and uncles in close proximity. Somehow that seemed like the way it was supposed to be. Takes a village.

Or at least it'd been good for him and Cami. Having both their folks not too far. Some annoyances and intrusions to it all. But there's something to be said about community and family and neighborhood – in Chicago. Generations and legacy. Counts for something.

Though, he knew, that Little Italy wasn't exactly Erin's first choice. Seemed like she'd been focused in on the North Side. Real committed to living there. Supposed he could understand that when she came up on the South Side. Halstead too. West Side wasn't far enough from all of that, he supposed.

Good for community, though. For history. For getting to work and to scenes in short order. There was that.

Maybe she'd like it more than she thought. Had to hope.

"Doubt they're watching the game," Hank said. "You know those two are Sox fans?"

"Really? Two guys who grew up kicking around Bridgeport cheer for the Sox?" she dripped sarcasm. "Better call off the engagement."

"Should at least take it under advisement," Hank provided.

She made a sound at him. "I'll call him," she put bluntly. "He'll go pick them up for you."

Hank just grunted. Didn't exactly want Halstead to be his errand boy but would just have to take it for what it was. With the way Eth was still hacking up a lung, didn't exactly want to be running out either. So it was what it was.

"How's Ethan?" she put to him at his non-response.

"Wheezing, coughing," he allowed. That about summed it up.

"Fever?" she asked.

"Yea …," he allowed.

She let out a sigh. "You want me to get him to pick up some acetaminophen too?"

"Got lots of that," he said.

"What about just over-the-counter cough syrup?" she asked. Hank knew she could likely hear her brother hacking over top of all the noise in the background on her end. Sounded more like the whooping cough than fucking pneumonia.

"Choi said need to let his body cough up this shit, not suppress it. Expectorant is supposed to be breaking up the mucus so he can get it out easier," he provided.

"OK …," she sighed. There was a long pause. "Is he flaring?" she finally asked.

Hank shrugged and scrubbed at his face. "Hard to tell right now. Will have a better idea after he's on the antibiotics for a couple days. See where he's at. If it's just pneumonia or if we're looking at a pseudo, exacerbation or an attack – and which caused which."

Silence hung there. "What's your feeling?" she asked.

He grunted at that and poked his tongue in his cheek as he stared at the vaporize. "Exacerbation causing the pneumonia," he finally put flatly.

Because it made the most sense. Wasn't no doctor but wasn't sure any doctor would argue against that. Not with the kind of stress his boy had been under the last couple months. Throw in seasonal changes, temperature changes, him in and out of fucking hospitals for medical appointments, and spending his days surrounded by germy kids at school and it was only a matter of time before some bacteria decided to kick his M.S. into high gear. Didn't think this was just going to be a pseudo-flare. Thought this was going to be one that was going to take some extra medical intervention to get through. But maybe it'd make his boy stronger to get through the rest of this shit. Or at least give his body more resources to try to cope with it.

"OK …," Erin acknowledged without argument.

Because he knew that she could pick up the telltale signs in differentiating where they were headed in the type of flare situation they were dealing with. That she was likely thinking the exact same thing but just wanted him to say it. Or was giving him the space to be the one who said it.

"I should call Jay," she allowed after another silence. "Give him time to get over there before they close."

"Sure," Hank said. "Appreciate that."

"Yea …," she said.

"So … see you when you get in …," he allowed.

Because he would. Knew he'd still be up with his hacking sound. Knew too that on the nights he knew his daughter was coming home after shift, he stayed up. Waited to make sure she got home safe. Because he liked everyone going home at night. Because it was just something you did for your kids. Even on the nights – days, weeks, months, years – they didn't like you so much.

Because you still fucking loved them. No matter what they thought of you.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: A second chapter is being posted today too. It will be posted shortly as the next chapter. Please make sure you don't miss it. Your reviews, comments and feedback are much appreciated.**


	24. Way Things Are

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank finished getting the vaporizer set up and gave his boy a look. Eth had been watching the show in silence beyond a few struggled coughs his body tried to expel. Sounded like either his lungs were getting tired or that the expectorant really had run its course and wasn't doing any of the heavy lifting in breaking up the mucus to get it out of his son's chest anymore. Maybe it was a bit of both.

They'd had him on oxygen for a bit in the E.R. Voight was really hoping he wasn't going to have to drag his boy back in to get some again. Would have to watch him for a bit. Listen to his breathing. Make sure it wasn't getting too labored. Too short of breath. That he was struggling with any chest pain or tightness. That his kid started going blue.

He went back over to the dresser and grabbed the iPad, getting into the opposite side of the bed and laying down, propping the damn tablet on his chest.

"You gonna show me how to get the game streaming on this?" he put to Magoo.

E let out another weak little cough but rolled over onto his opposite side to gaze at him, his eyes shifting slowly to the tablet.

"I don't really feel like watching," E managed to get out. Him forming words that day was a slow process. His throat was raw from the coughing and the rattling up the phlegm. His words shallow and somewhat garbled against his congestion. Were really having to listen to him to make out what he was trying to spit out.

But him spitting out that said a whole lot about how his son was feeling. His Cubbies were in the play-offs. Great season. Straight through to the Division Series and leading there too. Leading that night's game over at Wrigley and E still didn't want to watch. Had opted out of the game and come upstairs and now the interim solution of trying to catch some of it on the fucking iPad was being turned down.

Real sign that his son felt like shit.

Though, seemed like his relationship with the Cubs was shifting. Add it to the list of things that might never be the same. Losing his brother on what was supposed to be a family evening. Getting H to bled blue at his first game that they'd never gotten out to.

Had rallied a bit after that. But missed one of E's Cubs Club tickets in the process. He'd thought about pressing his son into going but had dropped it. Was already doing a whole lot of preaching about life needing to go on to his boy. But you could only force so much. Sometimes forcing things your kids loved was pretty counter-productive. Just make them more resistant to it and you in the process.

So Hank had left it. Gotten to the other games E had left for the season, though. Hadn't been quite the same amount of energy from his son about being there but they'd still been decent outings.

Hank liked getting out to the games with his son. There was something real about it. Him and E had some of their more real conversations in those meets. Guess there was something about ball that brought that out – of both of them. Maybe it was the peanuts and Cracker Jacks. Or just the distraction in front of them to keep them grounded.

Had sorta hoped he might be able to get his boy some tickets to this series. But getting anything had been a shitshow and considering the way E was looking that weekend, likely best it'd fallen through. Looked like the Cubs had a decent chance of moving on into Championship Series. Pretty fucking unreal. But it'd mean he'd have another crack at maybe scoring some stubs for them. Wasn't going to hold his breath, though. Knew he could get some if he really wanted to – through alternative means – but wasn't quite willing to pay that price. Magoo seemed pretty content watching the games on the TV anyway.

Except tonight. Tonight he just looked like he was waiting for it to be over. Poor kid. Likely would be missing some school. Perfect. Add to the fucking stress.

"Want me to read to you some?" Hank asked his boy, because he knew no mater how shitty his son felt, he sure was fuck wouldn't be sleeping right now. Even if he did manage to drift off, his lungs would likely only let that last so long.

But E just shook his head anyway. Not interested in getting a chapter or two in either. Likely not too interested in having him there at all but he wasn't about to move on just yet. Not with the way Ethan had been hacking. He'd stay up there until his boy did manage to drift off and then take leave until the next round of coughing jarred him awake.

"Jay's picking up your scripts," Voight allowed, reaching over and wrapping his arm around his son and pulling him a little closer. Should likely be guarding himself against germs but germs seemed to be just as scared of him as most people. So thought he'd be OK.

"I don't wanna go back to the hospital," E muttered.

"I know," Hank allowed. "Well, let's hope the meds Choi gave you have you on the mend in the next day or two."

Eth wheezed against him. "I really don't like going there," he struggled to get out. "I don't think they know what they're doing in Emergency."

Voight gave his head a little shake. "They're professionals, Magoo. And most of the docs there know your condition. Know what they're doing. Who to talk."

"They didn't with Justin," he huffed brokenly.

Hank sighed and scrubbed at the back of his son's head. "Did they best they could, Ethan. Best they knew how."

"He still died," E said.

He let out another slow breathe and held his boy a bit closer. "That didn't have anything to do with his docs being unprofessional. That's just what happens with that kind of injury, E."

"I had brain injury and we didn't go to Med and I lived …," E mumbled.

Hank grunted and gripped at his boy's shoulder. Didn't really want to relive either of those hospital trips. "Ethan, you had traumatic brain injury, OK? J – his was catastrophic. The docs did the best they could. But there's just no coming back from an injury like that."

"I came back …," he whispered. Hank wasn't sure if it was whispered with his strained voice or on purpose in his continued struggle to frame all this shit in his brain-injured, teen-aged boy mind.

"It was different, Ethan," he put a bit more firmly. Again. Because it felt like this was a conversation him and his boy kept having on repeat. That E either couldn't absorb it or couldn't accept it. Or wouldn't. That he was still trying to place blame somewhere and he was picking all the wrong people and places to put it. The blame in all of this belonged to one person and that was the fucking scum that pulled the trigger. He was the one that hadn't deserved to live. Not his oldest boy. "And it took you a good while to come back to us. You had to fight for it. We all did."

"But you didn't fight for J," E said even more quietly. "You didn't let him fight either."

Hank's eyes stung at that. At that accusation. At the concept that he hadn't done everything he could for his boy – even in death. That he hadn't given him all his chance and then some. That he hadn't pulled out all the stops. Because he had. Over and over again. Not just in death but in Justin's life.

He was willing to run himself into the dirt to protect his children. That he'd dig his own hole – his fucking grave – and happily stand there with the gun pointed at his head waiting for the trigger to be pulled, if he knew that it'd give any of his children a better life. If it meant they'd have a life. That they'd get the life they deserved. He'd be buried still trying to achieve that. Do it up to his last breath. Until the light went out of his eyes. Because at least then it was the light going out of his eyes and not his children's. And that was how it was supposed to work. You were supposed to go before your kids. Not the other way around. Never the fucking other way around.

"J fought as hard as he could, Ethan," Hank told him, squeezing at his shoulder. "That's why he was still alive when we found him and why they were able to take him into surgery and how he was able to pull that. He fought real hard so we all had a chance to say goodbye, OK? And that counts for a lot. But when it came down to it, we had to listen to what the docs were telling us and the docs told us that Justin – the way we knew him – wasn't ever going to come back. He was always going to be hooked up to those machines. He wasn't going to wake up. And we had to make the right choice. That's fighting for him too. We let him go with dignity and that counts for a whole fucking lot too."

"Getting shot in the back of the head isn't dignified …," E rasped out. Hank could feel his hot tears and hot breath against his shoulder blade but just used it as reason to hold at his son tighter, stroking his hand along his bicep and giving him little rocks.

"Was the person who did that to him who didn't have any dignity," Hank told his boy, doing his best to try to keep his voice from betraying him. "That man was the coward. Not your brother."

E just lay there against him a long time. Wheezing between the pneumonia and the tears that Hank felt still soaking through his shirt but that his son was trying so fucking hard to hide and control. Was just making his chest rattle more than it already was. Sending him into extra coughing fits against him.

"Are we gonna call Olive and Henry this weekend?" E asked brokenly as the latest bout of coughs calmed. Not sure the rest of it had, though. Not with the way his son's body was still wracking in little shudders against his side.

"Always call on Sunday," Hank provided flatly.

"But do you think she'll answer this time?" Magoo corrected.

Hank let out his own slow breath to try to re-center his own emotions too. To figure out the best way to answer that when he knew it came down to a rhetorical question. Figured both him and Magoo knew the answer.

His boy knew that Olive wasn't much interested in doing the FaceTime or Skype anymore and that if she answered a phone call was nearly as touch-and-go as Erin picking up the phone anymore. Her returning the call was just as unlikely. Only a handful of times he'd gotten a hold of her since her and H's move and most of them had been even briefer than Voight's version of brief.

Hadn't gotten to chatter at his grandbaby. Hadn't gotten to her in any concrete way how she was doing. How she was managing. How she was settling in there. If she needed anything. Anything at all. And the few times she had picked up had been in the middle of weekdays when he'd tried when he got a few minutes away from the bullpen. Her clearly picking up knowing that he didn't have much time and limited privacy. Also likely knowing that E wasn't around to be handed the phone.

But he didn't know where to start in trying to explain or justify any of that to Magoo. Instead he just ended up putting up excuses for her. Another conversation they had on repeat. That Olive was a single mother now. That being a single parent was hard. That it meant you had to make a lot of hard choices to do what you felt was best for you child. That whether they liked it or not, that's what she was doing and they just had to respect that. And they had to respect that she wanted and needed some space right now. That she was dealing with a whole lot too. That she was hurting too and they just needed to give her some time. That she'd come around and that they'd be seeing her and Henry real soon.

Thing was that Voight didn't believe about 98 percent of it when he spewed it out at his son and he suspected his son didn't buy into 100 percent of it. That he knew it was all bullshit. Lines that he was being feed. Because everyone was just feeding him lines in trying to figure out how to make any of this easier for him. But there was no fucking way to make this easier for him. E knew that and his resentment that the adults around him were trying to downplay all of it just agitated him more.

So Hank had been trying to be more real with him. More honest. But he didn't much know how to do that with Olive and Henry. Didn't much want to tell his son that he didn't know when they'd be seeing Olive and Henry again. That he wasn't sure if and when Olive would ever want them in their lives. That she'd ever be ready to set foot back in Chicago.

But maybe he didn't want to say that to Eth because he wasn't really ready to start having to believe that himself. He wanted to keep clinging to some sort of fucking delusion that eventually that piece of his oldest boy would come home to him. That his son's wife and child would be part of his life. And Ethan's. That he'd be a part of his grandchild's life. That there was some fucking way they could still be a family.

But what he said to E this time was, "Don't know. She's likely got a lot going on in her head this weekend too, Magoo. Might not want to talk to us much."

"Does she hate us?" E rasped out near breathlessly again.

Hank gave his head a little shake but held his boy tighter. "Don't think so," he said, hoping he wasn't lying to his boy. Hoping for himself too. Because if she hated them – him – there wasn't going to be much coming back from this. It was just going to be a matter of time until he came to his own acceptance that it was done. That her and Henry were taken from his life the same day – in the same way – as his son had been.

"Do you think she'll come visit for Halloween?" E tried.

"Doubt it," Hank confirmed, not glossing over it. Though he wish he could've given an affirmative because he'd sure like to see H in his costume. Sure would like to get a shot of that for Camille's sake. Show off a little bit to Trudy and O.

"Justin said he'd take me to the Halloween Haunt this year …," E mumbled somewhere in his shoulder.

Voight grunted. J had tossed out a whole lot of things at E in his final couple months on Earth. This fucking frenzied effort to try to connect with his brother and smooth some things over before the move back into the city. Some of it was jealous. Some of it was guilt. And likely somewhere in there was some genuine interest in spending time with his brother. But a lot of it had come off as shallow and desperate. Self-absorbed and self-serving. And E had seen that too. Had shot down most of J's attempts. Or offered up alternatives that he knew his brother wouldn't be to keen on. Had been testing him and Justin had stupidly failed each time, passing over the things he didn't want to do rather than just focusing on the spending time with his baby brother.

But none of that seemed to matter much to Eth now. Because this wasn't the first time he was mentioning some activity that J had supposedly promised to take him on. And that even if he had been around, Hank thought they all knew at this point, it wouldn't likely have been something Justin actually followed through on. That he would've been dealing with a whole other kind of hurt and sibling dynamics and rivalry. But he'd gladly play fucking referee or field coach than spend the rest of his life trying to explain to E in some way that made sense why and how he'd lost his mom and brother. And even harder why and how it was going to be OK. How those fucking losses weren't going to define him when Voight already knew – he could see – they were. They would. They were shaping the man his boy was going to become and he had some experience about what kind of man you could grow into when your life was defined by tragedy and loss. And he wasn't sure he much wanted that at all for Magoo.

"Well, just because J said he'd take you to that don't mean that Olive is obligated to come and take you on his behalf, Magoo," Voight put firmly.

E squirmed under him, rubbing his cheek and eyes before adjusting his face and looking up his chest to find his eyes.

"I wanted to go," he pressed hard to get out, his eyes glassing.

Hank gave him a smack. "Then suppose that's something you can talk to me or your sister about taking you out to."

E made a defeated noise that sent him into more coughs. He rubbed his face – his spittled mouth against Hank's shirt again. He just patted at his back as his boy let his body try to calm.

Didn't think he much wanted to go. E didn't do so well with scary. Wanted to think he did but didn't like any of that stuff much. Got creeped out too easily. Jumped at bumps in the night. Been told it was a brain damage thing. Sensory and how his body and brain processed – and didn't process – information. Things didn't sort themselves out and click as easily with Magoo as they did other people. Walking around a theme park at night in the dark with shit jumping out at him wasn't going to be his cup of tea, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

"Thought I heard you and Eva and Evan talking about the Halloween party at RIC," Hank tried, rubbing at his back. "Think that'd be more fun than some over-priced haunted house."

"Eva wants us to all dress up the same," Eth muttered and coughed some more. Hank just grunted acknowledgement. "I think we're too old for that."

"Nah," he allowed, patting at his son's back. Until Halstead got there with the cough syrup, he'd just want to work at trying to break up the mucus himself. Get it all out of his boy's lungs. Let him hork it all up onto his shirt. He didn't fucking care. "It's a Halloween party—"

"It's a dance," Ethan interrupted.

Voight allowed a little smile at that and gripped at his boy's shoulder. RIC called most of the little nighttime activities for their tween and teen sets dances. Truth was he'd seen the poster and schedule for this thing. Had been sent up the release form and the money request for if E was going to hit it up. And it wasn't much more than the goofy games you'd see at any kids' Halloween party with some thematically cringe-worthy food and music pumping in the background until they took the kids up on the rooftop terrace to watch the fireworks shot off the pier and than herd them back into the general activity space to screen a couple not-so-spooky movies. Fucking Tim Burton fest by the looks of it. Beeltejuice, Corpse Bride, Edwardscissor hands, Nightmare Before Christmas, Frankenweenie. E would like that. Been asking to go the latest Burton flick. Peculiar children? Sounded strange. Read a bit about it, though. Decided he'd rather read the books with his son but maybe a movie trip might be in the offing. Seemed like sitting and staring at a screen was about the only time him and Magoo managed to keep their emotions in check or not butt heads for at least a 43 minute period – minus commercial and previews.

Depending on what movies the kids voted on to project up on the big screen, Erin would likely like RIC's flick list too. Maybe he'd be able to talk her into going as a chaperone. Magoo would likely be more amendable to that than him showing up. Though, he could likely manage just going on his own. Volunteer to pick up or drop off the kids. Take his turn in the carpool. Trusted the folks at RIC to keep them on the straight and narrow after they got in the doors.

But the Triple Es were still grouped in with the tween lot. Not that Voight thought that the teen activities at RIC were any more risqué than what they offered up to their 10-13 year old patients. But he was OK with that. RIC was good for his kid. The people there, the kids E had met there, the programming they had there – it was about the saving grace in pulling their family – his little boy – through all of this with some sanity intact.

"Then even more reason to get dressed up the way the girl wants, Magoo." E made an unimpressed sound. "What's she want to be?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "She has lots of ideas. Ghostbusters."

"You like Ghostbusters," Hank told him, squeezing his shoulder tight.

"We'll get made fun of," E wheeze.

"It's a Halloween dance," Hank stressed again. "People who don't show up with a costume are the ones who'll be getting teased."

"Holly and her stupid friends were saying stupid things when we were playing ball in park in our Cubs jerseys …," E wheezed out.

"Well, Magoo, you hit the nail on the head in what you said. They're stupid. So whatever commentary they've got don't mean much. Fact they felt the need to even give a commentary just shows they've got too much time on their hands," Hank told his boy.

"They were calling us cripples and retards," E muttered against his chest. "The one guy was beating his arm against his chest and making some sort of retarded sound."

"Sounds like he was the retard," Hank said and held at his boy tighter.

Eth rubbed his face against his again. "We went down to the park to get away from them cuz they were making fun of us playing ball hockey and then they followed us anyway. With their sticks."

He reached and stroked at his boys' head. "They come after you guys with sticks again – you tell me. Get on the horn right away. That's what your phone's for. People don't get to pull that kind of shit, Magoo. The little assholes need to learn that sooner rather than later. Longer they get away with it the worse they'll get."

E buried his face in his shoulder. "We just came back here. But I don't think Evan will want to come over again. He still gets real upset about that stuff. Eva told them off but then I got scared the one guy was going to go nuts so I told them we needed to come back," he sputtered breathlessly.

"Hmm …," Voight grunted.

He'd been home when the Triple E was in the house. Had encouraged it. Thought he'd been supervising it pretty well. At least while the kids were in the front room and out back. Had checked on them in the laneway a few times with the hockey nets. Had given the go-ahead when they came in and said they were headed over to the park to hit the ball around instead. Apparently he should've been paying bit closer attention. Sometimes you forget the secret lives kids start living at this age. Forget the kind of cliques they establish. Or maybe he just kept deluding himself that little Holly next door was going to outgrow her Mean Girl phase and her mother would fucking realize she was running around with a group of little assholes – preferably before one of those assholes got the girl knocked up. Evolution he was seeing in that kid, though, wouldn't be surprised if by sophomore year she had herself in a world of shit.

Have to watch those little assholes running around the neighborhood on Halloween. Doubted that Bernice Prokops had the foresight to see if her Eighth Grade daughter still wanted to participate in Halloween and found some sort of community based event to herd her into if she did. Instead, if the kid decided she was still uncool enough to participate in a little kid holiday, she'd probably end up dressed up as some sort of fairy-Playboy-Bunny whore and go running wild with some of the boys of the neighborhood who'd definitely noticed that Holly didn't look or act like as much of a tomboy anymore. Not that cute little freckled Anne of Green Gables pigtails and all anymore. If anything, though, Voight thought he'd put a vote in for her running the streets. At least than he knew that there'd be CPD out with a presence in the neighborhood – some of the old guard too, some of the Outfit and the Social Club depending on just how many blocks they widened their radius to. So at least there'd be some sort of supervision making sure they didn't get too out of hand for part of the night, which was a hell of a lot better than Holly ending up in some unsupervised teen-aged party in someone's basement doing – unfortunately he had a very realistic idea about the – God-knows-what.

Made him even more happy for having E inside RIC. For the kind of programming there. For the kids he interacted with there. For the friends he was making. Because at least right now with all the shit he had to worry about with Ethan at least he didn't have to worry about him running the streets with wannabe hooligans finding a whole lot of banana peels along the way. Had enough to deal with without sex, drugs and alcohol coming into the mix at thirteen. Especially with some of the shit on the streets these days. Scary stuff – as a parent, as a cop, as a fucking guardian to the city.

Bernice Prokops would be real sorry about the fucking blinders she'd spent Holly's preteens wearing. Hank didn't doubt that. Judgmental bitch. Wished Camille was around to give her a piece of their minds. Could get away with saying a hell of a lot more to that woman about her parenting and her fucking child than Voight could. Some things you just couldn't get away with saying to a woman as a man.

"Glad you came back this way," Voight told his son. "Wish you'd told me what was going on when you did."

Eth shrugged against him. "We handled it …"

Hank ran his hand against his boy's short hair on the back of his head and gave him a small grunt of acknowledgement. Didn't know how much he and Eva and Evan had actually handled it. But had to give E a bit of respect for feeling as though he'd dealt with the situation the best he could at the time without coming running and tattling. Because, Voight knew all too well anymore, he couldn't always be there. That there were battles his kids had to fight on their own. That they needed to know how to fight them. How to handle it. So let them. Let them try. Let them learn.

But didn't mean he wasn't going to keep an eagle on that battle in the process. And his line of sight had just been redirected some. Another angle he was going to have to watch more carefully thanks to the fucking Prokops.

"Sloan Park is near Scottsdale," E said rather suddenly and with a bit more strength. "I looked it up. It's only like 20 miles."

Hank grunted and moved his hand back down to his boy's back. The coughing had stopped again but he could still feel the catch in his son's chest as he lay his hand there.

"So maybe we could go to spring training, we could go see H," he said, adding as a clearly forced after-thought, "and Olive."

"Maybe we should let the Cubs finish out playing this season before we start looking ahead to next," Hank said, patting at his back gently.

"But if we went down Olive would have to let us visit," he said with some strained meekness again. "Right?"

"Olive don't got to do anything she don't want to do, Magoo," Hank told him and gripped at him. His tough little boy had a gentle heart. Maybe too gentle but maybe it's also what made him better than the lot of them. Had his mother's heart.

"But we could tell her we were just down for spring training," E protested weakly. "Make it all casual."

"Mmm …," Voight grunted. "Don't think spring training will line up very good for us anyway, Magoo. Easter's late next year. Regular season will have already started up by the time you're on your spring break."

"So we could just go for a weekend," E tried, again lifting his face. His cheeks were flushed from his crying and coughing and his face buried against his the cotton of his shirt.

Hank reached and swiped his thumb against the tear streaks. Felt the heat of the red there. Should likely be checking E's temperature again soon. Sure didn't feel like it was coming down much if he was measuring it by the heat radiating off his rosy, hot cheeks.

"Pretty expensive trip for just a weekend," he told his boy who sighed at him and flopped his cheek back onto his chest.

"But Thanksgiving is just a weekend and we'll go for just that weekend, right?" he asked, staring off into the distance.

"We will if Olive wants us to head down," Hank gripped at his shoulder.

E let out another rattled breath. Was likely supposed to be a frustrated sigh but the only frustration that showed through was his body's at its ailment. But it was another area that Hank wasn't going to lie to him about. Most expensive airfare of the year landed on Thanksgiving. O'Hara would be a fucking gong show. His son had never flown before. Anywhere. And there'd be the extra headache of getting some of his boy's needles and meds through security and dealing with a potential flare up on a trip due to the stress and fatigue from the travel. He wasn't going to drop the cash on the flight until he got some indication from Olive that they were welcome there. Or he'd be perfectly fine with paying for the tickets for her and Henry to come up their way. Though, he worried about her having to fly alone and juggle the little guy and all his accessories on her own. But supposed that was going to be part of being a single parent.

For now, though, all of that was just pie in the sky because Olive hadn't said shit about Thanksgiving. Hadn't said shit about when she might be ready for him to come down for a visit or when she might be ready to come back to Chi-town for a visit. And, Hank was starting to think the answer on both counts was going to be never. Even though it'd only been two months. Kept telling himself that. But it'd sure felt like a hell of a lot more than that already.

"Do you think Erin and Jay will really take me to Florida?" E whispered.

Hank ran his fingers down the back of his son's buzz cut again. That was a whole other kettle of fish but it wasn't one that he was going to wade into until some of the pieces had settled a bit more. He was nervous enough about the concept of dealing with his son on a trip that would just involve going over to Olive's sister's place and eating some turkey and playing with his grandson. He didn't want to fucking think about all the logistics involved in taking his son to a fucking hot and humid state with one of the key planned activities planned involving him being out in the sun and heat and on his feet for hours on end and being jarred around on fucking rides. But he hadn't burst that bubble yet or broached the topic with Erin. His apprehensions. His wish that she would've fucking talked to him before she laid this possibility in front of his son. Because he wasn't sure he approved. For a whole host of reasons.

"Your sister is pretty good on follow through," was all he gave his son then, though. Because he didn't want to get into it. Not yet. Not now. Definitely not this weekend.

"If I keep up my end of the deal …," Ethan muttered.

"That was the deal," Hank said, gripping him tight. And thankfully there was fucking caveats because that might be the fucking out in all of this.

"Then maybe Olive would want to come on that trip," E said. "With Henry. Because the Star Wars park is at Disney and little kids like Disney, right? And Olive and H really liked going to the beach with us this summer, right?"

"Hmm …," Hank allowed and massaged at his boy's shoulder. "Think that's something we can all talk about closer to this trip becoming a reality."

Because he knew his boy was just grasping at straws too. That he'd spotted little H as that straw that represented his brother too and was trying to come up with any way he could to keep that straw from slipping farther and farther out of his grip.

"You should come too …," E rasped.

Voight grunted and tilted his head, resting his cheek against the top of his son's head. Fucking theme parks. Weren't his idea of a trip. But sending time with his kids? He wanted every minute now. With his grandbaby too. Even more than before. And getting to do that on the beach – the Atlantic, like him and Cami had done with J and with Erin? To get Eth out on some deep sea charter? Let him that experience? To take him out to Daytona after they'd missed out on their planned stop in Indianapolis that summer? To take him to the fucking space center after he'd been watching his son's interest in rockets and robots and astronomy grow? To give them the chance to all look up to the Heavens and to try to find something more after all this shit?

Well, that didn't sound like a bad trip to him. Sounded tolerable. And it might make him tolerate a fucking theme park or two too. Because as much as he knew it wasn't his thing, he also knew that Magoo' eyes would light up about the fucking Star Wars crap and Jurassic Park crap and the Transformers crap. And seeing that light in his eyes – even for fucking science fiction fantasy – was more than worth it too.

But he hadn't been invited. Hadn't even had the idea run by him. And he doubt that that stance was likely going to change either. Not between now and June.

And he supposed it would be nice for Erin to make some memories with her brother. Thing was he wanted to have some memories with his boy too. Good ones. Not all these fucking bad, painful, struggling ones that seemed to dominate their lives.

"We'll see," was all he said, though. "Can talk about that closer to any of this happening."

"That's what Erin said too …" E provided.

And supposed that counted for something. That the thought of him tagging along had at least crossed her mind in some way, shape or form. Not that that meant it would be something that she'd pursue or want.

"When's Mom's birthday?" E asked and fell into a fit of coughs again.

"March twelfth," Voight muttered with some distance, stroking again at E's back. Trying to get the fit to ease. Wondering what the fuck was taking Halstead so long. Figuring that he either hadn't been over at his brothers or that the pharmacy didn't have one of the drugs in stock and had sent him on some cross city trek to some 24-hour dispensary that could dish it out. If his boy wasn't flaked out on top of him, he'd be calling the guy to ask what the fuck was going on.

"You're older," E sputtered out between coughs.

"Few months," Hank acknowledged.

"How come we don't do anything on Mom's birthday?" he asked he seemed to get a break in the hacking, his eyes shifted up to his again.

Voight gave him a little shrug. "Because she's not here, Kiddo."

E eyed him with this fucking deep sadness that grated at him so much. Could deal with his own darkness but seeing that reflected in his kids eyes was a whole different ballgame.

"But you think about her on her birthday, right?" he asked.

He gave him a weak smile. "Yea, I do, Magoo," he allowed. "But think of your mom every day."

The gaze stayed steady. That little weighing of the commentary that he'd taught his boy. The looking people in the eye. Reading between the lines. But then he settled, his cheek landing on his heart again. His son listening to it.

Noticed E placed his ear there a lot anymore when he came looking for this much physical affection. The tension between him pushing him away and E just wanting to know he was there. For him. But it was like this fucking double check. His son making sure that this was real. That he was real. That his heart was still beating. That he was still breathing. That this was reality. And Voight wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing that Ethan needed that affirmation. That fucking reassurance.

"I think we should do something on Justin's birthday," he said quietly.

Hank let his chest rise and fall a couple times at that. Let his son listen at any physical reaction that had created. Because it had made him tense. It had made the fucking reality sting again.

But he just put back to his boy, "What do you want to do for your brother's birthday?"

E shrugged a little against him. "We get to pick dinner on our birthdays."

"Do," Voight agreed.

"J liked chicken wings," E said with some assured firmness.

"Sure did," Voght acknowledged. If J wasn't asking for steaks on his birthday than he was wanting to put away about two pounds of wings all on his own. Ever since he was about ten years old.

"And fries," E muttered.

"Yea," Voight agree. "Sounds like a pretty standard birthday dinner for your brother. So you thinking we should make a trip over to the butcher in the morning and see what he's got for wings?"

Eth rubbed his cheek against his chest but it was a clear nod. "He liked pie too," he mumbled. "He was like you. He wanted pie for his birthday. Not cake."

"Mmm …," Voight grunted. "Yea. Some years."

Some years it was pie. Some years it was cake – chocolate, chocolate, chocolate cake. That had stopped a bit when his grandmother wasn't around to make it for him anymore. Couldn't beat Mom's Austrian baking in that one. Sachertorte. He sure hadn't had no qualms about J wanting to off-load his birthday cake duties onto Oma when that was the order. Apparently Cami's baking – or the bakery – couldn't compare after getting Oma's sachertorte for so many years. So after a couple post-Oma birthdays, J had apparently thought the better alternative was to switch to pie. Because no other cake could compete – not without him giving a fucking running commentary about just how badly it was losing the competition.

"He liked pumpkin," E suggested.

Voight grunted and scrubbed at his son's hair, trailing his finger along his son's ear a bit. It was red hot too. Was going to have to peel himself out from under him soon and at least get some Tylenol into him until Halstead showed up with the rest of the meds.

"Liked pumpkin at Thanksgiving," Voight acknowledge. Or a more accurate statement would likely be that his oldest liked to use pumpkin pie as a vehicle to eat more whipped cream than any person should in a single sitting. "Not sure about his birthday."

Magoo stilled a bit. Hank could feel him grasping at his often so fleeting memories. His boy trying to pull out what was real and wasn't. Trying to find fucking sign posts to lead him to something from the past he could cling to and direct him to the pieces he was missing.

But he finally seemed to give up, settling a bit. "What'd he like at his birthday?" E asked.

Hank grunted a bit and moved his hand against his son's forehead. At least it didn't feel that feverish compared to the rest of him. Maybe he was just getting himself all flushed from the coughing.

"Asked for apple a lot," he allowed.

Magoo sat up a bit. "Apple crumble," he said with some firmness. Some fucking pride that he knew that one. That that memory was still there for him. "That's what Mom made."

He gave him a thin smile. A little nod. "Yea," he agreed. "She did."

E gazed at him. "Do you know how to make it, Dad?"

Hank let out a snort at that and gave his head a little shake, pulling his son back to him and wrapping his arms around him. Holding him so fucking tight. "Baking's not really my thing, Magoo."

"But we could figure it out," E said – again more firmly. So fucking purposely. "Together."

And that just pulled another sad smile at his mouth and he rested his hand against the crown of his baby boy's head. The one that wasn't so much of a baby anymore – not matter how much he wanted to just fucking keep him that way. But that opportunity was long gone. And he supposed that was for the best. Boys can't be babies forever. You raised men. He needed to keep raising this one. The right way.

"Yea," he allowed. "Can likely figure it out together."

Because he had to fucking believe that too. Cling to it. That most of this – eventually – they were going to be able to fucking figure it out together. Because that's just the way it was going to have to be.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The chapter immediately before this (Chapter 21 — Things You Do) was also posted today. Please make sure you didn't miss it.**

 **Feedback, reviews and comments are much appreciated.**


	25. The Anymore

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank stared at his two remaining kids. Them over there at the counter. Erin in coaching mode. Big sister mode. Mother mode. Not just that – showing her baby brother something that Camille had shown her. Years ago. A simple apple crumble recipe that she'd somehow retained or was doing a bit of making up as she went along by the looks of it. But E had dived into the instruction none-the-less.

He'd been trying to be discrete about watching them. Been doing his best to stay out of the way. Just let them do their thing, but Erin had kept giving him glances. She'd likely prefer he go sit in the front room but Halstead was out there. Sitting with him was bit more awkward – for the both of them – than sitting at the kitchen table with his second cup of brew that day and the paper.

Supposed he could go sit in the dining room and gave them some space. But truth was he liked watching them. Liked being near them. Seeing this. Maybe the deeper truth was that he hoped it'd prompt Erin into saying more than some passing sentences to him. Have some sort of conversation. And failing that, he at least had a couple things he figured he'd like to at least broach with her since she had decided to be a part of their lives that weekend – in a more visible and accessible way than usual anymore.

"Good job," Erin muttered at E as he finished scraping the crumble on top of the pie tins and worked at patting it down with the back of the wooden spoon.

Wasn't exactly the Dutch-style apple pie that he thought they should eat on behalf of his brother, but seemed like it was a whole lot easier process to get it prepped anyway. Looked like it was far likelier to be something his boy could eat too. And E hadn't seemed to mind too much since the mix was still ending up in pie tins – and since it'd been promoted as his mom's recipe. His mom's recipe that his sister was passing along to him – apparently from memory.

"There," Erin said, righting the bowl in his trembling hand and pressing some of the crumble farther down into the apples with her fingertips. "I think that's good enough."

E glanced at her, tapping his spoon against the dessert a few more times for good measure. "You think it's going to be good?"

His girl cocked her eyebrow at him. "It's your mom's recipe. How can it not be good?" she put to him.

Ethan shrugged and gazed at the two trays they'd filled. "When it will be ready?"

"Mmm …," Erin allowed, glancing at the oven that had long beeped it's notice that it'd pre-heated to whatever temperature she'd set it at. "We'll check it in a half-hour. But doesn't need to be ready until dinner, right?" she nudged at him.

E drummed at the countertop, staring at their creation. "We got ice cream too," he said. "Real for you guys and coconut for me. It will melt better if it's warm."

But Erin shook her head and took the spoon from him, starting to move the mess of measuring cups and measuring spoons they'd created over to the sink. "It's for dessert. We'll warm it up again closer to dinner."

Her focus turned to the start of her clean-up and E just stood there staring at her. Hank measured a bit if his boy was about to have a melt down of his own about not getting his way. Kid was pretty much running on empty after being up a lot of the night with his hacking. Wasn't feeling too well that morning either but at least it seemed like the antibiotics were starting to take hold and do their jobs. He was looking slightly more bright-eyed and bushy tailed than he had the past few days. But still didn't exactly look well. Took a healthy person a good two to three weeks to kick pneumonia, though. Knew from experience that with Magoo they were looking at more like a month – and that was assuming the bacteria didn't cause enough inflammation that left his M.S. flaring in other way that sent them down a whole other medical treatment route in the aftermath of it all.

Had still given them a bit of a scare that morning. Had thought his son was doing OK – had finally seemed to pass out and had hoped it was going to sleep a few hours. So he'd taken the mutt out for a walk. Poor dog hadn't gotten one the day before. Puppy needed it or he was a bit of a hellion in the house. Got restless. Wanted to play. Didn't get enough of a run out back.

Thought he might be able to kill two birds with one stone in the process. Do a route around the neighborhood and pick up a couple things. Get some groceries and E's requested wings. Do a bakery run and grab something to bring back for breakfast for the lot. Some of the good coffee. But hadn't been gone that long before he was getting a call from Erin wanting to know where he'd disappeared to and saying that they might be taking E over to the hospital.

Had come home to find E sitting on the edge of his girl's bed, hunched over while she rubbed at his back. Both her and Halstead were still in their skivvies. Doubted E had interrupted much but their sleep, though. Erin had rolled in close to two from shift and doubted the two of them had gotten anymore sleep than him and E with how the boy was hacking. Hadn't stopped E from later noting to him, though, that Erin and Jay were in their underwear. He'd just brushed it off for the boy. He slept in his briefs too. E likely would too if he didn't get so cold all the time. Wasn't like Erin had really come over with much of an overnight bag. Though, she still did have clothes in that room from before – when his girl was sleeping there at least a couple nights a week. But that was before. Didn't know why she hadn't bothered with pulling on some sleep clothes, beyond she'd looked like she was ready to fall into bed by the time she got in the door.

If E had interrupted anything, her and Halstead hadn't given any hint of it and E hadn't seen anything beyond their attire. Wasn't likely paying much attention when he barged in at the sounds of it anyways. Sounded like the main issue in that moment was that he was struggling against shortness of breath and a tight chest and had got himself into a bit of a panic in trying to come out of his labored breathing.

Halstead was pacing the room on the phone with his brother, when Hank had gotten back. Still in his own briefs. Was getting some sort of advice on if they should be dragging Magoo in to get some oxygen. But at that point E's breathing seemed to be calming. Was taking air into his lungs. Erin had gotten his puffer into him. Got another shot of the expectorant down the hatch and his next set of antibiotics.

Knew Erin understood that E didn't much want to end up back in the hospital. Knew that if they took him over to get out – even if it was just to get him hooked up to oxygen for a while – by the time the docs had done their due diligence, they'd have lost the day. And they likely would've just agitated Ethan a whole lot more. Didn't need another day at the hospital. Especially that weekend.

E was so bipolar anymore even on the best of days. Emotions so all over the place. It was like walking through a minefield with him. And wasn't just him who was dealing with the explosions and the fallout. Erin was taking a good brunt of it too. They were both still learning how to navigate it with him. How to give some sort of reassurances. How to still be stern with him while making sure he got the soft touch and support he needed during all this.

He'd been doing pretty good that weekend emotionally. A little teary but hadn't had any of his angry outbursts. Knew some of that was likely because he was feeling so under the weather and was in a bit of little boy mode. But Hank thought he'd take that. He'd rather deal with his little boy that weekend than having his teenager lashing out at him for just looking at him the wrong way.

Had really been expecting some of that anger and confusion to come flooding out that weekend. Had braced himself for it. Prepared himself mentally and emotionally. Worked at putting aside the things he was feeling – and thinking about and remembering – to make sure he was just focused on his living son rather than his dead one. As much as he could. At least so he wasn't having an adverse reaction to any of E's reactions. To keep being patient. To not say anything too stupid that would just escalate the situation and the emotions.

Supposed Erin knew all that too. Supposed that's why she was there. And as much as it felt a bit like her and Halstead had taken up some sort of occupation at the house – Hank was glad she was there. That they both were. The more the weekend went on, the happier he was about it.

Because she was a help. Because she helped keep his boy stable and steady. Because she – and Halstead – were additional supports for his son. Because he liked to see his kids together. Because he liked feeling like there was still a family in there somewhere with what they had left.

"Erin," Ethan finally said a little meekly. Kid had been pretty meek all weekend when you got down to it. But, Hank was somewhat relieved that E wasn't about to have a yo-yo with not getting his way in the immediacy.

Erin turned toward him from what she was doing. Look on her face said she was about expecting to have to deal with one of his episodic temper tantrums anymore. But as she saw his face, her eyes softened again.

"I'm glad you came home for the weekend," E told her with a touch of embarrassment.

But his girl just gave him a gentle smile and wiped the back of her damp hands from the sink she was filling on her jeans, before reaching out and pulling her baby brother to her. E didn't hesitate to cuddle right in – unlike with Voight, where he tried to be the tough guy a lot anymore. Only wanted hugs on his terms and even when he came looking for some affection, he wasn't likely to return the hug. Instead Hank got to hold him like his boy's arms were in some kind of straightjacket.

But not Erin. Rested his head right against her and wrapped his arms around her too, while she gave his back a good rub.

"I'm glad I'm here with you too," she told him quietly.

Probably didn't want him to be hearing it but knew he was. But it also wasn't lost on Voight that she'd picked her words carefully. Hadn't said she was happy to be home. Had been real sure to make sure the statement – the affirmation – was directly about Ethan.

But that was just how things were right now. Was learning to accept it. To be as patient with it – with her – as he was with the rest of it. As he was with Magoo.

Needed to keep on trusting she'd come around too. She was coming around to the house. Eventually she'd come around to him too. Had to hope.

"This weekend sucks," E muttered against her, but it was still audible enough.

Erin rested her cheek on top of her brother's head, still holding him. "It does," she agreed. "But the first holidays always do."

"But now it's going to be Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and everything. And he's not going to be here for any of them either," he said, turning his head against her so he wasn't looking in Voight's direction anymore. But he could still hear the catch in his voice. One that wasn't from the pneumonia.

"I know," Erin told him, visibly wrapping her arms around her brother a bit tighter. "But remember the past few years, Justin hadn't been able to be home for a lot of those things. And we got through, right?"

Eth gave a little shuttered sigh against her. "That was different. He could've come home. He just didn't. Now he never will. And now Olive and Henry won't either."

"We don't know what Olive and Henry are doing yet," she told him a bit more firmly but there was that gentleness in her tone. A tenor that Erin had mastered much better and far sooner than Hank ever had. Like another recipe she'd picked up from Camille, he liked to think. Or maybe it was something women – mothers – were just better at than men.

"Yes we do," E crackled. "You hardly want to come home. They aren't going to come all the way here. They left."

"Hey," Erin said and pulled her brother away from her a bit, gazing down at him and cupping his cheeks. "Don't get sucky on me. I'm here. We won't know what Olive and Henry are doing until Olive tells us what they're doing. Don't get all worked up about speculation – not fact."

He huffed at her, causing him to cough and jerk a way from her a bit in an attempt to cover his mouth and keep from streaming his germs all over her. Likely best. Erin seemed pretty good at picking up colds. Was a trooper about it. Didn't call in. But did come in and spread it around good. Watched the seasonal colds and flus sweep through his bullpen. Funny that his girl sucked it up but a lot of his young guys turned all little boy suck on him and called in all whiny to stay home on their couch for a day or two. Come back to District talking like their cough and sore throat had been the equivalent of them surviving the plague.

"You're doing really good this weekend, Ethan," she put to him as his coughing calmed. "Let's not go off the deep-end. OK?"

He gazed at her for a moment but then looked away, turning to grab at the pie tins. But Erin stilled his movements, taking them out of his tremoring hands.

"I'll get them in the oven," she said. "You go tell Jay you're ready to work on your math homework."

E huffed – and then hacked briefly –again. "I have tomorrow off," he put back to her with a flicker of defiance.

She cocked a warning eyebrow at him. "And Jay's working tomorrow. Do you like me or your dad helping you with math?"

"No," Magoo spat.

"So then let's avoid the three of us having another argument about math – and get it done today, since Jay's here and apparently is the only one who knows how to explain it in any way that makes any sense," she said with her own touch of tone.

But Hank knew where it was coming from. E had very clearly decided what each of the three of them had any brains in their heads about. So purely by all of them just wanting to avoid confrontations and frustrations, they'd fallen into a bit of a routine of each of them picking at various subject material with him. Didn't always work out, since the nominated tutor wasn't always available. But E sure did his best to display his displeasure when that was the case. Could be a real battle of the wills. Lots of dining room table arguments. Raised voices. His kid going glassy eyed – or working on filling up the consequences and donation jars with his week's allowance with the amount of F-bombs and other attitude-ripened profanity he started throwing at them. Pushing at their buttons. Trying to get them just as mad and frustrated as him. Trying to make sure they really knew how much he was hurting and struggling. But they knew. Didn't need him to go into teen-aged tantrum mode to understand it. To feel it. To fucking see it.

But Magoo had unequivocally decided that him and Erin were real idiots when it came to math. Hank wasn't sure he entirely agreed with that assessment. He wasn't a stats guy but was pretty sure most of the time he was grasping the fucking eighth grade math worksheets. Though, sometimes with the way that shit was worded he wasn't so sure either. Could see why E felt like pounding his head against the table with some of this problem solving crap. Wasn't exactly real life applications of any of the math these kids were actually going to use.

Halstead had seemed to have figured out a whole method of explaining the crap to the kid, though. Seemed like a lot of it involved Lego and E's dinosaur figures and baseball men and Hot Wheels all lined up in little piles to illustrate some fucking shit. And Halstead looking up a whole lot of crap on the iPad and watching YouTube videos. But whatever fucking worked. Supposed that's what trying to drag a brain damaged kid on an IEP through middle school was all about.

Didn't want to think about what it would look like when he actually got into high school and started bringing home more complicated assignments than integers and angles.

"He's watching stupid soccer," E put to her with such distaste.

Not that he blamed him. Didn't get the whole European football thing. Could stare at the screen for two damn hours and no one even scored a fucking goal. Just a bunch of fucking pretty boys running around in short shorts as far as he could tell. Think he would've learned to appreciate it more with all the fucking Italians and Poles he spent his life around. But enduring all the rah-rah-rah about the World Cup and the Euro Cup and the What-Fucking-Ever Cup was enough.

Reason to avoid the fucking drinking establishments as far as he was concerned. Didn't like Carmine's wine in a box that much. Didn't need to zone out with pinochle or clear out anyone's pockets with a couple poker hands. If anything the fucking European football provided good reason to get his ass home and be with his family instead.

Only now apparently he had his future extended family occupying his front room watching a damn game on just your fucking average Sunday. And from some passing comment Erin had made, he sure got the impression that Sunday football was Halstead's idea of a nice, quiet day. And they sure weren't talking American football. Though, at least he knew the guy watch that too. Or at least Super Bowl. Wasn't sure he'd seen him watch anything else. Or heard him talk about the Bears at the barn at all for that matter. And he fucking cheered for the Sox?

Might really be time to reassess this whole never-ending engagement thing. But at least he knew his hockey. And his math. Was good to his son. Good to his daughter. So soccer was likely a forgivable offense. As long as he didn't ever broach wanting to go see the Fire play.

Erin just shrugged at her brother, though. "And he will stop when you go tell him you're ready to do you're homework now."

Another huff and again with the hacking. Clearly E wasn't registering that his expelled displeasure wasn't doing anything for his lungs. Could really be a slow learner sometimes.

Erin just shook her head at him, watching him as he shuttered with his body's continued attempt to clear the mucus from his lungs.

"Eth, c'mon," she said a bit more gently when he finally stopped. "I want to have that Lost marathon with you this afternoon. We aren't going to be able do that if you don't get your homework out of the way."

He gazed at her again. Hank could tell his boy was really measuring if he should press it. Start an argument. Put up a fight, make a scene. But he also didn't think that E had much in the tank that day to be doing that and apparently the kid managed to come to the same conclusion. He flared his nostrils a bit but let out a, "Fine."

Erin gave him a thin smile and nudged him in the direction of the exit, casting Hank another small look as her brother did leave. But her eyes moved back to their crumble and she pulled open the oven door and popped them in.

"You're good with him," Hank told her, as she straightened, closing the door. "Always have been."

She cast him a glance and gave a little shrug, before turning her back, going over to the spot on the counter her and E had been working and continuing with her clean-up efforts. She likely should've made Magoo help with that since he was the one who wanted to make the dessert. But thought that Erin had more than registered that E was only going to be able to manage so much that day. That a Lost marathon likely wasn't going to happen that afternoon. That by the time he got done with homework with Halstead that her baby brother was going to be ready to – or at least need to – lie down for a while again. Though, supposed he could do that on the couch. Let him sleep through his TV show. But then they'd likely end up having to rewatch episodes with him later. Better to pick a flick to let him sleep through.

"Glad you're here too," Hank tried.

She glanced over her shoulder again. That time she included a, "Don't get used to it."

His face must've flickered with the pain of that statement, though. And even though he knew his daughter had been trying to rub some salt in the wounds in all of this – teach him a bit of a lesson – she also wasn't very good at it. Because she was a good person and she didn't much like hurting people.

"He'll be able to walk over whenever he wants after we're in the townhouse," she added, like it was supposed to soften the blow.

Hank wasn't sure it really did. Still wanted his girl coming over even if she was just a few blocks over. Wanted her to come home – to want to come home. Wanted to get his own invites over to her place on occasion. For it not to just be his boy who had the open door invitation there.

"Yea, he's real excited about that," he said instead, though. "Seems to think he's got a whole floor designated just for him."

Erin gave him another look but then shook her head and went back to wiping up. "The two spare bedrooms are on one floor," she said. "We're going to set up one as a room he can use when he wants to sleep over."

He gave a little nod. Sensed that that might be a lot and he hadn't really figured out how to deal with that yet. Didn't really like that idea. Maybe a couple times a month but he didn't want it to become a weekly habit. Didn't want his son running over there every time they had an argument and just not coming back. Thinking he wasn't ever going to come home either.

And he wasn't sure what E was thinking. Did know that E had said more than once now that he didn't much like his bedroom anymore. Had said that Justin had told him more than once that he didn't much like having to share his bedroom with his brother. Which Hank knew was true. The boys being in the same room had always been a bit of a battle. Wasn't exactly ideal but it was what it was. There'd been talk about moving J into Erin's room after she did get into the Academy and settled into her own place. But at that point, J was making a mess of a whole lot of other things. Getting his own room was supposed to be a bit of a reward he was going to have to earn and he never really had.

Some of it was likely that him and Cami also had wanted to make sure that Erin always felt like she had a place to come home too. So had been a little reluctant about handing off her room to her brother – even though it likely made some good sense. But they'd likely put up some extra roadblocks to J ever earning it. Not that he'd tried real hard. He'd done his best to become a real shit-disturber by the time he was in high school. Everything was a fucking battle.

Didn't like hearing E's perspective now, though, about just how unwelcome he was in that room. Voight thought some of that was a bit of a reinterpretation of history. Didn't doubt that J had said some things over the years. Hell, he'd witnessed, broken up and referred his share of fights between the two boys about space sharing in that room. Happens when you've got a grade schooler and a teenager sharing space. But he thought some of the comments Eth was making now had more to do with him coping with – sorting out – his end game with his brother. All the tension and negative feelings there. This concept he'd established for himself that his brother didn't like him much – and never had. Which, Hank wanted to believe was another half-truth. It was just that relationships between siblings – brothers – were just as complicated as those between fathers and sons.

J had loved his baby brother. E had loved his big brother. But wrapping your head around all the shapes and forms and phases and kinds of love is a fucking hard concept to explain to a little kid. Fuck, it was a hard concept to completely understand even as an adult. Or maybe as a man.

But Hank did know he didn't like his youngest feeling unwelcome in his room. Didn't like him feeling like he'd never been welcome there. Didn't like him feeling like it was riddled with history that he didn't want to relieve. Didn't want him having to baste in memories that he wasn't ready to deal with. And didn't want him rewriting history while he tried to come to terms with everything their family had gone through either.

So he'd offered up Erin's room to Magoo. Offered to get him moved in there and all set up. Been a little hard – because it still was his girl's room in so many ways. Because he was still hoping that they'd reach the point that she was coming over again more. And maybe because part of him was still waiting for Olive to come back with his grandson. He was still waiting for more grandbabies – and he wanted that space for them. For Popa's house to be the family home. For all of them to have space there. A place there.

But he'd prefer to keep his youngest stable over and above any of that. Because in the immediacy, E was all he had left. The only one still there. So passing on the room – redecorating it – was a small sacrifice to make.

Magoo, though, had turned down the room. Because it was Erin's, he said. But he'd later added he'd have a new room at Erin and Jay's place. And the way he said it had this omnipresent tone to it. This underlying reality that his son thought he'd be a lot more comfortable and a lot happier over there. That getting the fuck out of their haunted house was what he wanted. Getting away from Dad. And his mom and Justin and all the fucking memories that crept through that house. That fucking echoed off the walls. That hung off them too – in every room. Didn't matter which photos he took down and put away, he could still remember where everyone had been. What each frame held. And when he looked in that exact spot, he could still see his wife, his son, his baby, his daughter staring back at him. Himself. This happy, stable, normal family that hadn't existed for six years. And what was left of it just kept sinking into a deeper, darker hole no matter how hard he worked to get them all tossed back up into the dirt at the ledge.

Knew, though, that Erin's townhouse wasn't that stable land for Magoo. It might be a good safety net. A fence to keep him from falling in. But it wasn't that end point. Hank wasn't going to let E maneuver some sort of emancipation to move in with his sister and her fiancée. Didn't much care they had the space. Didn't much care it was only a few blocks over. E was his son. All he had now. He was going to grow up in his home. Only home he'd known. He was going to be his father – no matter how much E hated that prospect anymore.

He really hoped Erin was on the same page as him with all that. That she wouldn't condone E trying to integrate himself over there. In essence, him running away from home. Even if it was into the waiting arms of his sister.

Erin might've felt differently about that in the days after they'd lost Justin. Had made pretty damn clear that she didn't trust him with his boy. That she didn't think he was a good influence on him. That he shouldn't be the one caring for him. But Hank had fought for him. Hard. Still was now. Pulling out all the stops. And, he thought, his girl understood that. That they were working through that. That she knew he was still his boy's father. That he could still be a father – even if she didn't want him as her father much anymore.

But he liked to think this move was about helping. About being closer to family. About giving E the supports he needed. That his sister was being that good big sister. How she'd always been. How she'd always been there for Magoo. That this move wasn't about pulling the family further apart. Wasn't about creating more drama and tension. It was just about putting some extra stability in place for Magoo. It was about Erin getting on with her life in some ways. And maybe that'd be the example that E needed to about still living in all of this. Working through it.

"Jay mentioned the townhouse is a four-storey?" Hank tried.

She gave him another look. This one warning. "Aren't most?"

He shrugged. "Don't know," he said.

Big half-truth there. Knew that a lot of these narrow townhouses in these newer developments were multi-levels. Four levels as actually kind of short. Wasn't uncommon to hit on ones that were five or six. No more than a couple rooms per floor. Kind of a strange set up but it was building up rather than spreading out. Trying to utilize space. Selling each and every little plot at a premium. Wasn't sure how well E would do in a house with a whole lot of steps, though. Hoped that it had more than one bathroom. Likely did, though. Wasn't often that you got a house built in the last twenty years that didn't at least have a bath and a half.

And truth there too was that he knew exactly how many baths the place had with his detective work that he would've preferred not to do. Would've preferred to have gotten to go over to the place and see it along with Magoo on the night they were doing some measurements apparently. Four levels. Figured they were going to have a lot of empty space even between the two of their junk. Would be curious to know what they were planning to do with all the extra space. For now. Had to hope that the reason they got a three bedroom – in a townhouse just off a park with a two car garage and a big rooftop patio – was because they were hoping to add some kids to the mix. But figured in the interim they might want some furniture and not just empty rooms.

Halstead should grab the reins of that real quick. Start giving some input and direction or else his girl would be dragging him to every flea market, garage sale, antique shop, estate auction and police impound facility in Chicagoland and beyond for the foreseeable future. Would be collecting a whole lot of eclectic crap. The girl had fucking strange decorating taste and liked her clutter. Too much.

Had only seen Halstead's apartment once when he was picking up Magoo. But that guy was definitely more of the Spartan type. All the years in the Army cutting down on all the material garbage you liked to carry around with you. But Hank could appreciate that.

Maybe the two of them could find some sort of happy medium between hoarder and Sparta, though. Without draining the bank accounts and running up the credit cards more than this move likely was. Not that they'd let him in on it either way. Likely wouldn't even let him see the final interior design they settled on. When if they did just let him in the damn house, he'd likely offer to buy them a damn sofa. Not that they'd accept that either. Apparently anything he offered up anymore was just dirty. Couldn't be near it. Couldn't accept it.

"Know better if I could see the place," Hank added, giving her a smack.

"Don't," she put even more warningly. Glaring at him real good before she turned back to the sink.

Hank patted his hand against the tabletop, staring at her back as she did her utmost to ignore him. "Just want to make sure you know I can help out," he told her. Again. "With whatever. Anything. Know that, right?"

She gave a little nod. "Yea, I do," she provided. Still not looking at him. "We're fine," she said, that time giving him the smallest glance.

He allowed his own slow nod. Let it sink in. Again. Let the rejection wash over him again. Let him measure how much progress they'd made and hadn't made. Try to decide if they were ever going to get back to the point that they could act like a family. Where she wasn't just barely making nice to him for her brother's sake.

He gave a little sigh and gestured over at the stove. "Crumble looks real good," he offered.

She gave a snort at that and shot him a look. "Don't sound so surprised."

He poked his tongue into his cheek at that comment. "Meant it as a compliment, not a commentary, Erin," he put flatly.

He saw her eyes roll a little, as she grabbed at the coconut oil and maple syrup her and Eth had out, taking it back to the fridge. She paused, though, as she slammed the door shut far harder than she needed too. Hard enough that if she'd done it as a teen, he would've chastised her.

But Hank saw what her eyes had landed on. Watched her skimming over the flyer. Saw her hand reaching to lift at it a bit.

"E saw that when he was waiting for me to pick him up at the museum club thing the other night," Hank provided. "Wanted me to pass it along to Olive."

He saw a small, sad smile tug at Erin's lips a bit at that. But she nodded. Still kept on staring at the poster, though.

The silhouette of a fucking tyrannosaurus rex charging right at a red-clad Santa holding up a candy cane like that was going to appease the damn thing. Christmas breakfast and photo-op at Field. Buffet it and then go and get your kids' photos taken with Santa and Sue.

"Because a photo-op with the Jolly Elf won't scare H enough, Magoo thinks that bag of bones will really make the picture," Hank said, trying to soften the blow. Distract her.

Because he'd seen the look pass over her face when her eyes had set on it. Was a look he know. Look he'd seen on Camille's face too many times over the years. In those years after they'd lost the little girl who should've been their oldest daughter but instead they went through years of just watching those around them have kids. Watching them start to do the little things that you had gotten so close to. Getting invited to those first birthdays and baptisms. Knowing the date your baby should've been born but instead you were empty-handed, childless and just left to think about this imagined life with the child you'd never gotten a chance to know.

Erin might not have told him how many weeks along she was when she miscarried. Hadn't told him the due date. But he'd gone through that drill enough, just by the sheer fact they'd taken her in for a D&C and not just let it go its natural course, he'd been able to do his own math. Make his own assumptions about how far along she'd been.

And he knew that he likely had been going to have a second grandbaby by Christmas. With the way her face changed when they'd landed on the poster, he wouldn't be surprised if whatever date was on the damn thing was the due date she'd been given. That in some other parallel universe that maybe he'd be taking his two grandbabies and his youngest son to see Santa and get their picture with Sue. And that that would be one for the albums. Tacky as fuck but so fucking them. So fucking Magoo. Would have Cami laughing that's for damn sure. Their little guy with their two new little ones – still dinosaur nutty. Trying to pass it along to the next generation.

But that wasn't the way history had gone. Hadn't been the way life worked. Was all just a fucking fantasy of what-ifs and wouldn't-it-be-nices. Wasn't going to be how their lives or futures were going to look. Wouldn't be the family Christmas photo that year. Or any other.

Erin hadn't said much of anything about it to him in the weeks after her miscarriage. Could see she was struggling but she'd gotten real quiet. So had Halstead. And before either of them likely had a chance to cope as individuals – as parents-to-be that weren't. Or that they'd fully dealt with all the ramifications of that as a couple and the strain it put on your relationship. There'd been Justin. And they'd all tumbled right into that. Another fucking layer to the stress and the sadness and the mourning.

More than his daughter should have to handle. Ways to just make it harder for her to take care of herself. To look after herself. To grieve the way she needed to. To process any of it.

And before he might've been allowed to each out to her – as her friend, as her father. But now he wasn't. Now he just had to trust she was dealing with it. That Halstead was helping her. That they were figuring out how to cope together. Had to trust that them buying this townhouse showed they were doing that. That they were OK. But he sure wished he could have a real heart-to-heart with his daughter. To check in with her. That she'd let him hug her. Because she was carrying a whole lot too.

"Maybe Ethan really just wants to go and is using the Henry thing as an excuse," Erin muttered and let go of the sheet. Did her best to hide what had flashed across her face. To act all nonchalant about it.

Hank allowed a little shrug. "Maybe," he conceded.

Though, he thought they both knew that E had more than out-grown the whole Santa thing at that point. But there might be some truth the fact he'd play along again if Santa and a dinosaur were involved. Because his kid was weird like that. Likely be taking the whole visit with Santa thing to some sort of teen-aged irony level that he didn't understand but fucking Instagram would.

Reality was, though, that he knew what Magoo's motivation really was. That for weeks, he'd been accumulating all these things in a list that he wanted sent off to Olive. All these things he wanted to do with Henry. All these ways he was trying to tell the woman that as this thirteen-year-old kid, he'd try to be there for her. That he'd try his best to be a good uncle. That he wanted to be a part of his nephew's life.

It was this whole level of heart-wrenching that punched Hank in the gut every time E brought him a new item to pass along. Every time he fucking asked if he thought that that offer might convince her to come back to Chicago or to at least bring Henry for a visit. How he kept saying that he could be like a big brother to Henry too – not just an uncle. How him and Justin were nearly the same years apart as him and Henry so he knew how to be a big brother. Thing was with the effort Magoo was putting into this, Hank couldn't help but think that his little boy might make a better big brother than his oldest boy ever had. And knowing that hurt on too many levels. Made him hurt for E and it made him hurt for Henry. Made him hurt for Justin and Camille too. For his whole fucking family.

E had wanted to be sending these lists off to Olive himself. Hank had managed to talk him out of that. Talked him into letting him manage passing all this ideas and promises and offers along. Because he didn't think Olive getting bombarded with texts from Magoo would help the situation too much. Though, part of him thought that maybe it'd wrench at her heart enough too that she'd at least come home for a visit. In the very least pick up the phone a bit more. But Hank also knew even his cautious attempts to express to her how much E was struggling with having his nephew disappear from his life along with his brother – how much he wanted to be a part of hi nephew's life, how much they all did – was just adding to Olive avoiding calling when E could get on the phone.

Because saying no to him or just not answering was one thing. But saying no to a thirteen-year-old kid it was another. And Hank knew that Olive knew she wouldn't be able to do that as easily even though it meant she'd be forced into doing something else she didn't want to do.

So they kept playing the little game of her avoiding his calls until a time when she could keep it under two minutes and didn't have to talk to Magoo. But that was only going to last so long. Because Hank could see Ethan's frustration and sadness and anger and anxiety about the whole situation mounting. He might be able to monitor Ethan's phone – make sure he wasn't bothering her, but after E decided he wasn't going to respect that anymore, it was going to have to be Olive who blocked him. In bigger and harsher ways than she already was.

"You told her about that yet?" Erin asked passively, getting back into acting like she wasn't bothered. Just going back to the sink like it was nothing. Like he wasn't the guy who raised her and could read her body language and her looks.

But he just shook his head. "Not yet," he allowed. "He just brought it home the other night."

She gave him a glance. "You going to call her today or tomorrow?"

Hank allowed a little shrug. "Yea," he acknowledged. "Don't mean I'll actually talk to her, though."

Erin made her own little frustrated sound – on that had its own edge of sadness to it and she leaned against the counter. She sudsy fingertips dripping back down into the sink.

She looked at him more firmly. Kept his eyes. "Has she told you what she wants to do for Thanksgiving yet?"

Hank just gave his head a little shake. And his girl made that sound again. Only this time it wasn't sadness. It was anger.

"It's almost the middle of October," she said harshly out the back window. "If she doesn't fucking say something soon, we're never going to be able to book flights – however the hell she wants to manage this."

Hank tapped his hand against the table. "Think that's likely the point," he said. "Wait long enough and this all become moot."

Erin batted at the facuet and really turned to glare at him now – like it was him who was staging this when all he wanted was a direct answer too. All he wanted even more was one of the answers he wanted to hear – that he was welcome to bring Magoo down for the weekend or that her and Henry would like some help booking tickets to come up. But at that point, he'd fucking take that Olive couldn't stand to look at him but would open the door up for Erin and E – and then he'd get the two of them on the fucking plane. He didn't care. He just needed her to fucking say it.

"Does she not realize what this is doing to Ethan?" Erin demanded. "Forget us," she drilled and pointed off into the front room, where Hank could just see that any set up for homework time had stalled out with Magoo taking up space on the couch with Halstead staring at the screen. Again looking a hell of a lot more like brothers who could get along and share some time together even in something that one member of the party didn't give two shits about than E and J ever had.

But his eyes shifted back to Erin and he made a small gesture to get her to calm down a bit, to lower her voice. Because Magoo didn't need to hear her upset. Not about this and not this weekend.

"His anxiety is already rising, Hank," she said more calmly but still real accusingly. "He's upset enough now and it's just October. Hallo-fucking-ween. He's already stressing about Thanksgiving and Christmas. He's going to be a fucking basket case by then if she won't … fucking tell us what she's doing."

"Erin," he said calmly, "he's going to be a basket case at holidays no matter what Olive decides. We all are. We've just got to let Olive—"

"We've let Olive have time to make her decisions," Erin spat at him. "She's being selfish."

Hank puckered at her at that. Getting sterner with her. "She's just trying to look out for the kid in the equation. Same as us," he put right back in her direction.

"Ethan is a child in this equation too," she argued back. "It's been two months. Fine. I get it. She's still grieving. But so is Ethan. We all are. We're all one fucked up dysfunctional family. She can still get over herself – this – enough to get on the fucking phone and say, 'Hank, Erin, I'm not going to be coming up.' So we can fucking start preparing him for that. Give him time to wrap his head around it."

He just smacked at her. "Think maybe you should be putting a few bills in Eth's consequence or charity jar," he said, giving a little point to the shelving unit above the coffeemaker.

Erin just huffed at him and shook her head as she gazed down into the sink. "Un-fucking-believable."

He gave her a sigh and reached to riffle some of the papers, magazines, bills and envelopes shoved in the little box tacked above the table. Found what he was looking for and got up.

"Erin, I'm prepping him with the assumption they won't be here with us and that we aren't going to be welcome down there either," he said and shrugged as he got next to her. "If we get to see them 'round the holidays, we'll just treat it as a bit of a Christmas miracle."

She gave him sigh and shook her head. But he put the sheet he was carrying on the counter next to her and stepped around her to grab a towel while she stared at it.

"What's this?" she grumbled. She was in pissy mode now. But couldn't much blame her. He was reaching his own level of hurt and frustration with it all too. Knew it was going to twist a bit tighter in him if he didn't get a chance to see his grandson up on the Skype on his son's birthday too.

He handed her the tea towel to dry off her hands. "Ethan's progress report," he provided flatly.

She took the towel from him, mutely staring at the comments and grades in front of her, as she wiped off her hands and then reached to pick it up and take a better look at it. Didn't need to really look at it that carefully, though, to see it was full of bad news.

"These are just …," she muttered and then sighed heavily, finding his eyes. "They aren't his term grades."

Hank shook his head and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just giving us a snapshot of how the first six weeks have gone."

She ran her hand through her hair and stared at it some more. Frustration and anger creasing her face again. "I just …," she muttered and then sighed heavily, gazing at him with bewilderment. "We do the homework with him. He goes to tutoring. He's on the IEP. He goes to the educational resource room every day. Has the EA assigned to him. How's this even possible?"

Hank grunted. He had about the same thoughts looking at it. It wasn't like E was failing but the piece of paper sure seemed to be suggesting that he was functioning well below grade-level. That his academic performance was far from satisfactory. That he seemed to be struggling in just about every subject there was. And the written comments just drove home that in the classroom, Magoo was doing his best to either check out or to put up the fronts and the attitudes with all the people around him. So not only wasn't he a prized student, he was also one that none of the staff who had to work with him seemed to like very much when you read between the lines.

"I mean …," Erin shook her head again and stared at the page, jabbing her finger at it. "Science, tech, social studies. His marks shouldn't be this bad there. I know he struggles with the language arts and the math but these?" She looked at him almost pleadingly, like he might somehow have the answer key to what was showing on the page. "He's smart."

"I know," Hank acknowledged. "But he's also as smart as he wants to be about what he wants to be smart about."

Erin sighed hard at that, again shaking her head at the paper. Could see some of her frustration and anger shifting there. Hopefully it didn't bounce right off the page and deflect into the front room and at his brother. Hank had to sure steady himself to keep from interrogating the kid about the marks and teachers comments on the page when he'd brought it home Friday night. Had to steady himself even more from handing some sort of grounding that wasn't likely to improve the situation at all. First he needed to get a grip on what the fuck was going on. How much of this was the lazy ass EA. How much of it was his teachers not working within his IEP properly. How much of it was Ignatius' fault versus Ethan's fault. And then for the fault that lay with Ethan. How much of it was brain damage and his learning disability and delays. How much of it was part of his son's grieving process. And how much of it was E just being a little fucking teen-aged asshole sitting with his thumb up his ass during classtime.

"Meet the Creature is Thursday," Hank put to her flatly. "Going to put in for some meeting time with some of his teachers. See how that goes and might book a sit down with the admin too."

Erin gave a listening nod but she was still staring at that page, likely reading through it for the second or third time like looking at it again might make some of the words change and make it make some more fucking sense. But Voight already knew it didn't matter how many times you fucking read it, it still didn't make a whole lot of sense. He'd read it enough trying to wrap his head around this epic failure that he could likely recite some of the comments by heart. Still didn't make it any clearer.

Why should it, though? Seemed like nothing much was clear anymore.

"Jay mentioned you two are picking up the keys to your new place on Thursday," Hank stated. She made a listening sound – an acknowledgement – but her eyes stayed set on the page. "You planning on heading there that night?"

She glanced up at him at that, as the gears clicked into place. "Ah …," she rubbed at her eyebrow and looked back at the progress report. "We thought we'd go make sure it was cleaned the way we want it before moving in. Maybe give it a once over ourselves."

Hank gave his own grunt of acknowledgement. Made sense. Very grown-up. But could be pretty amazing how homeownership did that to you. Took a lot better care of your things when they were yours and you were the one paying for it. When it was your home. Your spouse's home. Your family's home. Enough to turn his messy girl into Susie Homemaker maybe. Or at least enough to get her into the whole Royal We mode. Bossy pants. Delegating all this shit to her husband. Not that Halstead looked like he minded half the time. Less than fucking half the time.

Guy was just as smitten as his girl was. Could see it. Could see the way the two of them were leaning on each other too anymore. Relationship was more visible at work now than it'd been in the past. Couldn't really fault them that. But also wondered how long it could go on before Crowley would notice too and Voight wouldn't be able to keep turning a blind eye. But he also got the sense that neither Jay or Erin would be too heartbroken anymore if he had to send either of them packing from Intelligence.

Almost surprised that Erin hadn't upped and volunteered herself yet with how they were going at each other in the early days. Thought that likely had more to do with her watching her own back than her trying to watch his, though. And thought too that when the transfer papers did come in, she'd be going over his head and they'd be trickling down to him. Wouldn't be her who'd be giving him the heads up and his desk that the request would be landing on first. It'd be trickling down from somewhere.

Though, he could hope that maybe they'd repair their relationship enough – professionally and personally – in the interim that that wouldn't be the way it came down. When it came down. Only a matter of time. Supposed, though, no matter what it was always only going to be a matter of time. Could only hold his girl close for so long. Love someone, let them go.

"Well, wanted ya to see the report," he told her. "And for you to know you're welcome to come out to Iggy's Thursday night, if you want."

She nodded, still looking at that damn sheet. Likely still hoping she was going to find something positive in it. "Yea," she acknowledged. "I think I'll …" she sighed and looked up at him. "I'll be there," she affirmed firmly. "I want to know what's going on here too."

"OK …," he allowed.

Though, it felt like a bit more than OK. Felt like some progress. His girl was there this weekend. She'd be there on Thursday. Not for perfect reasons or in perfect situations. But at least they were going to face some things together as a family. Again. Work through them.

Anymore - that's all he could ask.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Readership on Chapter 21 (Things You Do) is recording as stupid low. So you might want to make sure you didn't miss it.**

 **Thanks to those who take the time to review. Your comments, reviews and feedback are much appreciated.**


	26. Real Ugly

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank peeked back into the front room. Had gotten real quiet in there and he wasn't sure that was a good thing.

Homework efforts had come to a pretty abrupt halt when Magoo had another coughing fit. Had taken a while for it to really pass and by the time the hacking had calmed, the kid was spent. Reality was the kid was pretty spent anyway that weekend. Just fucking exhausted. Was going to be real interesting to see how E managed to bounce from this shit this time.

Sometimes it seemed whatever bug he picked up, he picked it up about 10-times worse than the rest of the population and then it set it up so the next thing he got hit him even harder. Seemed like more and more of those hits were just setting him up to flare his M.S. symptoms. A flare was bad enough, but Hank was looking at the calendar and pretty acutely aware that they were nudging toward the time of year that E had experienced his first major attack at home that had them stuck in the hospital and dealing with exasperations for weeks and fucking weeks.

Knew his boy was already under a whole lot of stress – mentally, emotionally and physically. Just really didn't want all that when layered with the fucking pneumonia to be setting them up for another attack and hospital stay. Didn't want to think about what that might do to his boy. Wasn't sure E had the same amount of stubborn in him anymore. Not in the same way. And the kid needed to keep that stubbornness to go through life carrying the burdens he was going to be carrying and to deal with the every day fight that was his health.

Hadn't put up a fuss about keeping his ass at the table until he was done his assignment. Wasn't worth it that weekend. Could tell his kid needed a lot of rest. Could also tell he was likely going to be having E home from school for at least a day or two. Choi had said to give him at least three days to get the antibiotics really kicking in and clearing this thing up. So, he'd likely at least be pulling Magoo out of class on Tuesday. Would have to figure out how he was going to manage that without taking off a day of his own in the process. Was trying to keep that to a minimum right now. Didn't want to give Crowley, IAB or the Ivory Tower any more reasons to crawl up his ass. Though, taking a day to be home with his sick kid would likely go over better than him ending up to have to take fucking days or weeks if this thing kicked his boy in the ass and they ended up in the hospital. So Crowley and the bunch might just have to go fuck themselves on that.

Kid had just ended up in the front room. Flopped out with Erin and Jay getting his promised TV time. If the kid hadn't still been running a fever, Hank might've thought he was trying to play the whole cough and pneumonia thing a bit. Milk the unlimited screentime it seemed to be opening up that weekend for all it was worth. But, it actually didn't much look like Magoo had his eyes on the screen at all.

Kid was all out flopped almost on top of his sister on the couch. She'd gotten some Tylenol down his hatch and had come into the kitchen to retrieve a cold pack while he was working on the marinade for E's … J's … wings. Now the kid was just passed out. Near looked like he was drooling in his sleep, he was so congested – his mouth just hanging right open. If he was, Erin was at least pretending not to mind in the moment. Just had her arm around him, holding the ice pack in place on his head. Still trying to bring down the fever a bit. Keep him cool. Try to avoid a fucking flare if they could. Seemed like a bit of a losing battle, in reality.

Looking at them right then, he almost thought that maybe him ending up with a fucking exacerbation and needing a round of the steroids might not be a bad thing. Kid looked so small against his sister. Could see that toddler who lived for the nights when his big sister wasn't waiting tables or over flunking out of community college. The kid who'd cuddle with her on the couch, pretending like he was asleep to try to avoid bath time and bedtime for just a few more minutes. This little kid who's arrival was some kind of lifeline in stabilizing some of the banana peels they were struggling with Erin when she was sixteen but that the baby somehow managed to help stabilize. How much Erin had stepped up to the plate from day one in the big sister role – not just for Ethan but Justin. Look out for them. How she still did.

And how when they fucking posed like that on the couch when he was just a little boy, it made any fucking qualms they might've had about having a baby in their forties fade away. How it made all the fucking debates they'd had about how much longer after her eighteenth birthday and high school graduation they should be keeping Erin under their roof versus pushing her out of the nest and if she was ready for that. How fucking happy he was – Camille was, his boys were – that their sister had stayed home until she started up at the Academy at twenty-one. How her brothers had her there a bit longer. How she'd bonded with Ethan. How it'd given him and Camille that extra time to have a young adult in their home and start to see the real fruits of their labors even though she still did her best to cause them fucking headaches and heartaches in the process. But you couldn't regret that. Not when her was your toddler passed out on top of her. Regretted even less when her pre-teen brother was in there as part of the pile. His and Camille's whole fucking world – their real world, the one of any real importance when you striped the rest of it away and really got down to it – there in a heap on the couch.

And they were still there. Parts were missing. Really missing. But they also weren't because Ethan sure didn't look like some thirteen-year-old kid. Not right then. Erin was still taller than him. Hank was starting to think that she might always be. That you couldn't go through a lifetime of trauma and damage and illness and reach his brother's six foot. Didn't even much think that his son would reach his height anymore. Could hope it'd at least be Erin's. But lately he'd been feeling like that might be being overly optimistic.

Dealing with Eth's pickiness with food and dietary restrictions was hard enough. But getting the kid to eat much of anything was a battle since they'd lost J. His boy just had no appetite. Or was doing his best to avoid having to sit with him at the dinner table by complaining he had no appetite or a stomach ache or nausea. So he'd been doing a bit less than stellar at getting healthy, wholesome meals into the boy. He'd pretty much settled on making, buying or cooking whatever E said he'd eat in a given moment – no matter what he thought about it. Just to get something down his hatch and into his belly.

It all meant, though, that his boy just looked frail. Sure didn't mean he was getting what he needed as a growing boy. What Hank would've previously argued a teenaged boy needed – the amount of food they could tuck away. Instead it meant that E likely didn't even have the resources in him to have had any kind of fighting chance when the pneumonia got a hold of him. Now they were just going to have to wait it out. Hope that antibiotics did their jobs because Hank wasn't sure that E was putting up much of a fight on his own.

Erin gave him a glance as he looked in the doorway. So did Halstead. The guy was sitting across from them. Sitting was putting it lightly. The guy was really standing guard. It'd become abundantly clear that was Halstead's role that weekend. Hell, it was pretty abundantly clear he was pulling some double-duty in that regard at work too. Supposed there was some double-duty going on that weekend too.

Hank didn't really want to feel that either of his kids need any kind of protection from him. Because they didn't. He didn't want to do anything to hurt them. But he would acknowledge that he'd made a lot of mistakes along the way. That he'd made some poor choices. That he'd done things he wasn't proud of. That he had a whole list of things he wish he'd done a bit – or maybe a lot – differently. So – yeah. His kids had been hurt along the way. He knew they were both hurting now. In different – but the same – ways. That maybe neither of them completely trusted him – or his judgment or his care – because of that. And, he'd acknowledge that with both of them he carried some fault for the hurt they were feeling. That he didn't pull the trigger that shot the bullet that killed their brother but maybe he'd contributed to the whole sequence of moments that lead his oldest son to that moment. That maybe if things had been done differently long ago, that that would've never happened. That maybe if he'd handled himself differently that day and that night, his daughter wouldn't have been dragged into these suspicions - and accusations and cover-ups and things not talked about – in quite the way she had. And maybe that'd mean she wouldn't be looking at him in quite the way she did these days.

But she did. And E did. And Hank knew that was why Halstead was there.

But he also knew that Halstead being there was probably one of the driving factors in his daughter even being in the house. That Erin likely wouldn't be there if Halstead wasn't there. That he'd read between the lines enough that he was near certain that it'd been Halstead who was driving force in him and Erin coming to some sort of reconciliation. Or at least recognition to be able to function in the same room together outside of work. To try to keep them together as some sort of family. Now. And not six months from now when it'd likely be too late.

But as much as he knew all that, he knew that if he made a misstep – that if he did anything to cause any sort of hurt to his girl or his boy – it wasn't just going to be Erin and E he was managing. He would be reckoning with Jay too.

Funny because when the kid – not kid … man – had been pulled into Intelligence by 'Tonio he likely wouldn't have too much about taking Halstead down a notch or two. Fuckin' did to make sure the kid got his head on straight. Earned his spot. Proved that he was the good cop he was. Not just potential. But he wouldn't have thought too long about knocking him to the ground physically either. Didn't worry too much about taking on people bigger or younger than him. Never really had.

Things were different now, though. Real fucking different. And if they ever got into a situation where him and Halstead had some sort of out-of-the-office standoff about Erin or his boy, he wasn't sure where he'd land. He wasn't sure the bulldog would come out. Wasn't sure he could be a dog with a bone anymore. He wanted to believe it would. Because these were his kids he was talking about. His heart and soul. His blood. People he'd die in the fucking dirt for.

But the thing was he knew that Halstead felt about the same way. So he didn't know anymore how much he could rip into Halstead. How much of a bulldog he could be with him. Not if Jay got in his face about his kids.

Because this wasn't some fucking jag-off trailing after his girl for all the wrong reasons. Wasn't Erin making shitty choices and spreading her legs because she still hadn't got in her head that if she was just in a relationship for that it wasn't a fucking relationship and it wasn't the guy for her. It wasn't a guy who deserved her.

The thing was that Voight knew Halstead had put in the work for Erin. That he wasn't just there for the wrong reasons. That he'd more than paid his dues. And that he'd seen the good, the bad and the ugly out of her. Had seen some of the illegal and rules bent too. And he'd stuck around. Stuck around Erin. Stuck around them. Stuck around him. Stuck to the family.

Hank liked this guy with his daughter. As much as he wasn't sure he wanted to like any guy with his girl, he liked Jay. He could respect Jay. And he trusted him with his daughter. This was a guy he trusted with his sick little boy. A man who'd hopefully be fathering some of his grandchildren.

So if Halstead came at him? Told him to step-off? To back off? Told him he wasn't good for Erin? Or that he was a shit father to his boy?

Hank just wasn't sure where the chips would fall if they ever came to that confrontation. He was just going to have to hope they didn't come to that confrontation. That they didn't need to have that kind of fucking conversation that would likely be a whole lot more animated than any old conversation. So, to try to avoid all of that ever happening – let Halstead sit there. Let him stand guard. And let him keep talking his daughter into being a part of their lives – their family – and not just some fucking underlying he had to manage at work.

Neither gave him any comment in that moment, though. He hadn't stepped over some line by poking his head in there. Hadn't committed some atrocity by not dragging his son back to the hospital yet. Hadn't pissed them off by not being enough of a parent or too much of a hard-ass parent.

So he just shifted his eyes to the TV briefly. See what they were watching. Apparently they'd talked Magoo out of Lost. Hank didn't mind that. Didn't much feel like staring at the screen all afternoon and had already committed enough hours to that damn show that he didn't want to miss a bunch of episodes while the three of them had some sort of marathon. Though, it looked like E would've had to be re-watching the things anyway, if they had. Sleeping through it.

Instead he was sleeping through Rookie of the Year. Maybe a small smile tug at his lips. Because there his boy was completely passed out but Erin and Jay looked pretty engrossed. Though, they were likely just staring at it because it was on. Distraction. Him and E did a lot of their own staring at a screen anymore too. Pretty much the sole neutral zone they could find. A bit of time where they weren't triggering each other some way or another – whether they meant to or not.

Rookie of the Year. Wasn't one of Magoo's favorite baseball movies. But it was a good ol'standby. And it was the Cubs. Maybe the kid was feeling some regrets about skipping out on watching the game the night before. Could take in the next one tomorrow, though. Was glad they'd at least have that distraction during the day. Unfortunately they'd have to make it through the whole day to get that distraction and that might be the trick of it all. Really wished his boy was feeling better so they could go looking for distraction. As much distraction as you could find with a thirteen-year-old kid. Not sure it was the kind of distraction Hank wanted – or at least needed to block out all the fucking noise in his head – but it was probably a lot fucking healthier than anything he'd get up to if Magoo wasn't around. So there was that. Couldn't decide if it was a blessing or fucking curse that his son's birthday fell right on Columbus Day that year. That being a supervisor, meant he didn't need to be in the bullpen. That the fucking Ivory Tower didn't really want him there. Or at least didn't want to be paying him if he was there.

Any other year he likely wouldn't have cared much. Would've still worked it. Take the up-top pay. Or wouldn't have gotten his shorts in a knot about it and worked anyway. Because he didn't do the job for the salary. Appreciated the salary – because he needed to support his family. But the job sure as fuck wasn't about that. You didn't survive the job if you were doing it for the cash. You were there for all the wrong reasons if you were just collecting a pay check. Didn't have much interest in the dog cops just putting in their time. Collecting pay and waiting for their pension. Not the kind of people Chicago needed on the job.

But even though he felt the way he felt about the work. Even though he needed the job – now more than ever. He needed the distraction. He needed the reasons. The purpose. The fucking routine of their non-routine of each fucking case. But it still didn't mean he could really leave Magoo to his own devices, though. Not this year. Especially not with how he was feeling this weekend.

Funny to stare at the stupid kids' comedy for a moment. To know that all three of his kids had gone through that one. That fucking old. Still had some charm to it. Especially these days with the Cubs' past couple seasons. His own kid playing ball. But it was just a fucking dumb kids' movie. And it's what Magoo had picked to put on that afternoon. For whatever fucking reason.

He had so many fucking arguments with Ethan anymore about what was appropriate for his media consumption. All these shows and movies that he thought he should get to watch or that he claimed kids at school got to watch. Shit that Evan and Eva got to watch. All sorts of shit Max got to watch. The fucking availability of far too fucking much on the Netflix crap and streaming and YouTube and Hulu and whatever fucking else.

Dangerous territory when it got to the point that your kid could make all that shit function better than you. And Hank knew that E was likely finding ways around the rules, no matter how closely he was monitoring it – because E knew he was monitoring it and likely knew his way around that better than Hank did too.

But he'd stayed firm on the whole PG-13 thing for now. Shows, movies, games. Had been an ass about it even though it meant him and E argued about it all the fucking time. And sometimes Hank caught himself wondering what fucking difference would it make if his kid saw some fucking zombies getting their heads splattered on the sidewalk. Or was running around in some game shooting shit up.

What fucking difference would that make with the kind of trauma that E had experienced in real life? When his mother gets shot up by a gang and mowed over by a Mack truck? When his little boy has his face spread across the pavement? When him and Erin went to work every day with guns on their hips and blaring? When they'd come home to him with bruises and scars and bullet wounds and knife wounds? When they lived in Chicago and he saw news headlines every day about death, murder, corruption and violence in their city? When his older brother had his brains fucking blown out?

But that was the fucking point, wasn't it? When that was Ethan's reality, why the fuck did he need to watch some fiction that either glorified it or normalized or made it seem like that shit was just fiction. It wasn't fiction. And it wasn't fucking normal. And it shouldn't be fucking glorified. His thirteen-year-old son didn't need to be consuming that crap to form his fantasy world. His real world was fucked up enough.

He'd become far too aware too of just how aware his little boy was aware of his fucked up reality. Family counseling had done that. Brought out a whole lot of stuff that just showing how fucking anxious Ethan was. Just this ball of anxiety. How fucking scared his boy was that him or Erin – and Jay – were going to up and die on him too.

It was hard to hear. And it wasn't something he'd really figured out how to respond to. You'd think he'd know better since his dad had died on the job. But Hank thought that loss in his own life had just reaffirmed for him that that was fucking life and it was part of the job. It could happen. And if it happened it happened. The job had greater purpose. Protecting the city and the people within it had real meaning and importance. It was something that needed to do. And something that only some people had the balls to do in the way it needed to be done in a city like Chicago.

Supposed he'd always known he could die on the job. Had known that since fifteen. Supposed he'd thought of it before that too. His pops had had his share of brushes with bullets and thugs too. Sure it'd scared him as a kid too. But also supposed that that wasn't really something you talked too much about to your father back then. Weren't supposed to get all teary about that kind of thing. Didn't go to your mother about it either. Because if something did happen to your pop, you're supposed to be the man of the house. You don't go telling your mom that you aren't ready for that and you still need your daddy.

But that was the world then. And maybe it was a worldview that was a bit easier to reflect and spout when there was still another parent in the equation. Maybe it was easier to believe when your kid didn't have a pile of other trauma on him. But with Magoo? In the 21st century? It was a harder line to walk.

He'd tried walking it after Camille was gone. Had still tried to do the job the way he'd done the job. Had still tried to parent the way he had parent. And maybe he'd failed both Erin and Justin that way. Maybe he'd really failed Magoo too.

And his boy spouting he was afraid that him or Erin were going to die too just drove it home even more. That that was a fucking reality that haunted him now. That hadn't seemed to haunt hi when they'd lost Camille. Not E. Maybe Justin but Hank hadn't dealt with that the way he should've. That was obvious now. And maybe it'd scared Erin too but it just scared her deeper into CPD. Detective's exams. Studying. Busting her ass harder. Becoming the kind of cop he'd tried to teach her to be. The kind of person who the city needed. But maybe that wasn't right either.

E. It was different. He'd say he missed his mom. And Hank knew how to respond to that. He missed her too. But there hadn't been this fear. There hadn't been this anxiety.

Now, though, it was becoming apparent that it hadn't been there because he was too little and too hurt and just didn't remember and didn't understand. Not the way he did now with what had happened to his brother. And now it was just spilling over. Thing was after a dam burst sometimes it was pretty fucking hard to get it plugged up.

Even with the counseling - this talking it through bullshit – he really didn't know what to say. How to make it better or how to calm him. Because he wasn't leaving his job. He couldn't. For so many fucking reasons. And it didn't seem like Erin had any intentions to either.

And even though Hank didn't fear death itself, his son's worries in that area stirred his own. Not so much that he'd die. They all fucking died. That he had a sick little boy who was going to need help for a real long time. Maybe always. And he didn't need to deal with more. He just needed someone to fucking take care of him. To be there for him.

He hoped Erin knew how important she was to Ethan. He thought she did. He believed she did. She made choices and had actions that showed she did. Near every day. But he hoped she knew – she understood – that she was eventually going to be all Ethan had left. At least he had to fucking hope that was how things would work. Because that was the natural order of things. Not that life had honored any sort of natural order for me before. Because your father ain't supposed to die when you're fifteen. Your wife ain't supposed to go before you. Women are supposed to outlive you. And you're sure as fucking supposed to go long before your children. So he was going to just have to hope that life was done with its fucked up upside down turnaround on him. That he wouldn't be saying goodbye to another son or his daughter – or worse, a grandchild – before he said his own goodbyes. So he had to hope that Erin was prepared for that. That she was Ethan's lifeline. Now. Always. That she could figure out how to deal with that better than he ever had. Do it better.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Erin must've heard the buzz, because she cast him another glance. Slightly accusing. Like it was going to be work and he would be taking off. But he didn't get as many calls from work at home anymore. Still did. But Crowley had Intelligence on a tighter leash. Things they got called in for – not the same as before. Didn't have as much leeway to go after the cases he wanted to chase anymore. Didn't have as much leverage to do the job the way he wanted to do it. The way it needed to be done. Might not get that kind of leeway again. Not in the same way.

But as he dug it out and looked at the screen, it wasn't work. It was Olive. Finally returning one of his calls. Had left her three messages the day before. One already that morning. Was likely pissing her off some but really wanted to talk to her. Really wanted to get his grandson on the line. Would prefer to get him on the Skype thing but she wasn't buzzing him through that. Likely didn't want to let him have that sit down. And somehow again she'd managed to pick a time to call back where E wasn't that available to participate in the conversation. But, if she was going to let them talk to Henry, Hank would be waking up his boy. Finally get him the chance to do that.

"Hey," he rasped into the phone. Trying his best to be friendly with her. Had always done that. After their first little blip. Always tried to be welcoming. Be accommodating. Not fucking scare her off. Sometimes that was a struggle for him. Knew he didn't have the friendliest voice. Knew he just wasn't that friendly, period. Knew he could be off-putting. And knew his phone manner sucked. But you can't fucking please everyone and it ain't worth trying. But he was really fucking trying with Olive.

"Henry's sleeping," she put to him directly, as he turned on his heel and trudged back to the kitchen. Getting slightly out of his kids' earshot. Now really didn't need this waking up Eth. Only upset him more.

Hank gave his face a bit of a scrub as he got there. "That's OK," he allowed. Even though it wasn't. "Magoo's sleeping too. Got a bit of pneumonia this weekend."

Small talk. He sucked just as bad at that. Conversation, in general. Never much saw the point. Didn't see the need for chit-chat. About the only time he saw the point of talking was in the interrogation room and that wasn't meant to be a conversation. But he was trying to get better at that too. Trying a little harder.

Something else that was coming up at this fucking counseling. Talking. That was the whole point. Communication. Was sure fucking proving that him and Erin and E all had a long way to go there. The three of them were all pretty emotionally stunted or emotionally retarded. Or maybe he'd just brought that out in his kids. Hadn't nurtured it the right way. Hadn't made it OK for them to feel and express those feelings the way he should've.

So there was another thing he was trying at. Trying to form sentences a bit more. Trying to talk about random bullshit he didn't want to talk about just to there being some line of communication going. Trying to get any of them – all of them – to open up in some way. Even though it was fucking uncomfortable and sometimes just felt like a whole lot of crocodile tears.

"Sorry to hear that …," Olive allowed in his ear. It sounded sincere enough but hallow. But a lot what came out of her mouth anymore sounded that way. Erin's had a similar echo to it in the first weeks. Similar but different. Because it was different. Hers was improving. Slowly. But Voight knew that had more to do with the role Jay was playing in her life and their relationship and moving forward within that than any sort of grieving. Thing was Olive didn't have that relationship anymore to help slowly draw her out of her emptiness.

And Hank knew that feeling. He still knew that feeling. He'd been trying to figure out a way to tell her that he understood. On some level. In his own way. Even if he was a man. He knew what it was to lose a spouse. He knew what it was to lose a friend you'd had since high school. He knew what it was for them to be taken from you in a gruesome, grotesques and inhumane way. He knew what it was like to be left with pieces of them that you were now tasked with raising on your own. He knew what it was like to have the memories and to be haunted by them. To see things all around you you didn't want to see and to have these constant fucking reminders.

He fucking knew. All of that. But what he didn't know was how to talk to her about that. How to broach any of it with her. To make her feel like she could talk to him. Because she could. Even though he also knew it was a subject area that he wasn't so good at talking about. At all. But it was another area it'd fucking try at – if it meant he could have those pieces his son had left behind back in his life and his boy's life. J's wife and child.

"Maybe we could set up a time that I could give you a shout back on the webcam a bit later this afternoon," Hank tried. "When both the boys are awake."

The silence hung there. Like she didn't expect him to propose that. To broach it.

"I'll probably be starting our dinner routine after he's back up," she finally said. "He doesn't do so good when his routine is disrupted."

Hank let out a slow breath and squeezed at the bridge of his nose. "E's off school tomorrow," he tried. "I'm off work. Could do it then? Know we'd both really like a chance to see H this weekend."

Again there wasn't a response and that was more than answer enough.

"How are you coping this weekend?" he put to her instead. Trying again to keep his own emotions out of it. The anger and frustration and grief. This unreal pain that he was being kept from his grandson. That his grandson was being kept from him. This awareness of what Camille would say to him about all that. Her demands that he fucking fix it. But he couldn't seem to. Not right now.

"I'm fine," Olive said. Just as hallow and empty as before. Just as much of a lie as when Erin spouted it at him.

Hank squeezed at his temples. "Look, E told me that he'd sent you a link to a review from that concert …" he broached.

"I got it," Olive allowed. "I didn't read it."

Hank straightened a bit and walked to the fridge. Wasn't exactly surprised by that answer. But he still fingered at the flyer tacked up on the door.

"Just so he doesn't go sending you other stuff," he mumbled, "wanted to let you know he dragged home this flyer the other night. It's a Christmas breakfast and photo-op at Field. I don't know what you're thinking about the holidays—"

"I haven't decided yet," Olive put flatly.

Hank nodded, dropping his hand away from the flyer. "It's the 17th," he put just as flatly. "So if you didn't want to be here at Christmas, might be a decent alternative …"

The silence hung again. And he again scrubbed at his face, this time spinning on his heel and grabbing the lighter to go out back to the grill. To get really out of earshot.

"The boys' mom used to take them to Field all the time," Hank tried a bit more directly. "I think it's just something E really wants to get to share with his nephew."

Again silence on her end as he let the door clatter. Probably louder than he needed to. Probably at the fucking risk of waking E.

"How is Ethan this weekend?" was her response to any of that. "I mean, besides the pneumonia."

Hank started up the gas, getting the grill going. Get things warmed up for a slow cook. "Ethan's finding all of this real confusing, Olive," he said as he watched the elements ignite. "Having some behavior problems at home and school. Not sleeping well. Not eating well. Got some depression and emotional issues going on. All of it's running his body down even more. Making some of his M.S. symptoms more prominent. Dealing with flares."

Again just silence. He shut the lid of the barbecue. Let it heat. Get real hot.

"I know you know what M.S. does to the body. Know you know too what all this going on does to a kid."

He wanted to tell her that it was a blessing that Henry was only one. That even though it meant that he would grow up without a father, it still meant he was young enough to not really know what was going on. That, yea, he may sense the disruption and the emotion. He may know his routine and surroundings have changed. And all that might mean he'd be fussy. That maybe she'd see some reverted or lost development in him. But it was different when they were little. That he was learning that all to well now.

He wanted to tell her that he'd gone through fucking hell when he lost his wife. That he didn't even get the chance to properly mourn his wife in the immediacy after her death because he had a little boy hooked up to machines an in a coma. His face gone. His head crushed. Pulled into surgery after surgery. And he knew what she felt walking into that room and seeing Justin that way. That he'd felt it doubly because he'd been in that room before. He knew what it meant. That he'd had some of the same conversations she'd had to have. That he'd had to make his choices too. And that he didn't fault her for any of her decisions. That just because he pursued a different route with his child, didn't mean that he'd done any differently with Justin. That maybe there was part of him a little relieved that Justin was married and it wasn't him who had the power and authority and responsibility in making that ultimate decision. Because he knew how devastatingly hard it was to make the choice to pull that plug. To flick that switch.

But he wanted her to know that she hadn't chosen wrongly. That she'd done what she felt was best – for Justin and for her and for Henry. And what she felt was the most respectful and dignified choice for his son. That it would've been what Justin wanted. And Hank didn't question that either. Because he knew J fault him in many ways for having not pulled the plug or switched that switch on Ethan. For approving surgery after surgery and leaving him on life support through that coma and sitting there with doctors telling him that his boy might not wake up. He knew that J had issues with what those days and weeks and months in the hospital after his mother had died had meant for the family. How it'd meant that he wasn't there for Justin in the unimaginable loss of his mother and the self-blame he internalized because of that. And how it meant that even though it meant he'd brought home a living breathing little boy – it hadn't been Justin's baby brother that had come home. And it hadn't been his baby boy. It'd been a very different child.

And Hank knew as much as he loved Ethan – the Ethan he had now was not the Ethan he had before the collision. That the Ethan that was growing up now was not the Ethan at thirteen-years-old that he would've had at home if that brain injury had never happened. And he knew that there were still moments he struggled with the memory of the child that was compared against the child he had now.

There were moments he struggled with knowing if he'd made the right choices as he watched everything more his little son was being put through. All the tests and procedures and medication and hospital stays that had again become a part of their lives with the M.S. when it'd seemed like they'd barely moved past his rehabilitation. When they'd already be coping with his brain injury for life. And now Ethan would be carrying this with him too. That it would be progressively and slowly criplling him. That it'd be taking him into the hospital for the rest of his life. That he'd always be having an uphill battle.

And it made him question why he'd have decided to put a child through that. Why he'd made the decisions he had. How selfish he'd been being then. How selfish he was being now. What the motivation really was? If he just couldn't loose his wife and his son in the same moment.

And Ethan's brain injury hadn't been as severe as Justin's. Ethan had a fighting chance of having a life. Justin didn't. And he'd never fault Olive for the choice she'd made.

But he did want her to know that he'd lost a wife. He'd lost the baby son that was born to him and was raising another person entirely. That now he'd lost his oldest boy. That his relationship with his daughter was strained and he was still scared he'd lose her too. That he was walking on eggshells. And in all that he couldn't lose his grandson too. He wasn't willing to let him go that easily. But he hated that she was making him beg. But he'd been begging. He'd been trying to find the words to beg – since the moment she told him she was leaving.

But apparently he didn't know how to beg. Maybe he had to get on his knees. Maybe that would help. But that was also something he wasn't sure he knew how to do.

"Know you're looking out for Henry," is what he said instead. The words he could find. "Doing what you feel is best for your child. But, I'm really asking you to remember that E is still just a kid in all this too. He's only going to be getting more confused and more frustrated the longer this goes on, Olive. He just wants to be a part of Henry's life. We all do. Erin and Jay are over right now too. Could talk a bit to them on the Skype too, if we did it this afternoon."

"Have they moved yet?" she asked. Skirting the question but at least opening some sort of door to conversation.

"Next weekend," Hank allowed. "Get the keys on Thursday."

"Is the place nice?" Olive asked.

Hank let out a noise and looked to a racket at the door. Bear was scratching. Decided he wanted to help him grill. Hank pulled it open and the mutt ran past him and down the steps into the yard. Some fucking help. Go sniff at the same fucking places he always took a piss and shit. Check to make sure they were still a worthwhile toilet bowl.

"Haven't seen it," Hank said.

That hung there.

"She said it's in Little Italy?" Olive finally said.

"Yea," Hank allowed, scuffing his socked feet against the doormat. Should've pulled on his boots before stepping out but had wanted to get out of earshot quick.

"Where?" she asked.

Hank scrubbed at his face. Knew Olive wasn't talking much to Erin either. But apparently even less than he'd thought. It was definitely in a sad state of affairs when he was being the emissary of information between those two. Because he didn't have much intel to give. Didn't know why Olive needed much intel there at all. But at least she was almost forming sentences with him.

"It's in that townhouse development off Vernon Park," he provided. Not because he'd been told that but because he'd had to do actual intel to know it.

"That's close," she said. "That will be nice for you."

"Yea," Hank acknowledged. Because that's what it should be. That's what he wanted it to be. For Erin. And for Ethan. For Jay. For any kids that they brought into the world. But he wasn't sure it was the reality of the situation. Not right now. Wasn't the purpose. And no matter how they cut it, it wasn't meant to be nice for him – even if he could hope it'd work out nicely for everyone else. "Could be nice for you too."

But that just drew more silence. More awkwardness.

"Know you and Henry are always welcome back here if things don't work out down there," he tried. Even though it just added to the awkwardness. But it was the truth.

He had room for her and his grandson. That he'd do what he could to make it more comfortable there for them. That he understood that Olive felt the house was full of ghosts and he was also real willing to reach out to his contacts again to find something else for her. That he'd help her get on her feet and established until she got used to living within her means on her son's insurance. Until she found a job and a daycare she could afford on that job. That he'd make sure that her and Henry would be taken care of. On the months she couldn't make ends meet – they wouldn't end up on the streets or hungry. They'd be provided for.

That he'd make sure she got breaks from Henry – for her own sanity and mourning and to just be a young woman. So she didn't just have to be a mom and whatever her job ended up being. That she could still get some time to herself. And he'd make sure Henry got time with good male role models too. That he'd get to play with tools and blocks and robots and cars and go out to some ball games and fishing. That he'd get him signed up for whatever fucking sport he wanted by his fourth or fifth birthday and he'd get out to his practices and games. That for any failings he'd had with Justin – he'd do his best to make up for them as Popa. That for anything J had said to her about what he was like as a father – that every story had two sides. And he'd done the best he could and the best he knew how at the time. That he'd learned with each one of his kids and the situations they got themselves into and the challenges they brought to him as their own individuals. That sometimes he'd made mistakes. That, yeah, he knew he could be strict and he could be a tight-ass and sometimes he could be fucking stern and fucking mean. That maybe he'd handed down a whole lot of tough-love with Justin. Because that's what he thought his son had needed. That's how he thought you parented a boy. But that was then. And he was still learning and still evolving – as a man and a parent and a father. That Ethan was teaching him whole different lessons about what all those roles meant. That he was still adjusting himself and his parenting style. And that he would – that he wanted to – with Henry too. That he'd be there as much as he could. As much as she'd let him. And that Henry had an aunt and uncle-in-law and little uncle who be doing their best to do the same. That they were all showing willingness. She just needed to let them bridge that gap.

"Picked a Halloween outfit yet for H yet?" he asked when the silence got to him in a way that it didn't in interrogation rooms.

"No," she said with a twinge of noticeable sadness.

Guess he shouldn't have hit on another holiday. Not that he considered Halloween much of a holiday. But figured it was a reminder of just another thing J was missing. Hank sure knew he was missing that kind of random shit you do with little kids with his grandson gone. Had missed it that first year. But missed it even more now that he'd been promised having his grandbaby back in town for three years at least. Now that Henry was such a piece of his son and he'd been yanked a thousand miles away. And with the distance Olive was creating, it was feeling like a whole lot more than that.

"Is Ethan going out?" she attempted to change the subject.

"Ah …," Hank allowed, adjusting the temp on the grill a bit. "Not going out. There's a party thing at the Rehab Institute. Goin' over to that with some of his buddies from ball."

"Not to the Halloween Haunt?" she asked carefully.

"Nah," Hank said. But didn't say more. Didn't say that he thought that was a shit idea and one that he wished Justin had never put in his boy's head. Didn't say that E was still on about it. Didn't say that he'd just brought it up the other night. Didn't say that he'd asked about still going. And that he'd likely ask Erin and Jay to take him and that if he did it before he talked to Erin about it, the two of them would likely just automatically say yes. That even if he told them that he wasn't sure it was a hot idea, that it didn't mean they'd listen and that they might just take him anyway. Because Erin didn't seem to care too much about his judgment a lot of days. "Just the RIC thing …"

"Costume party?" she asked with negligible interest.

"Yea …," he acknowledged.

"What's he being?" He could tell she didn't care.

"Talk about Ghostbusters," Hank provided – despite her uninterested tone. "Some Star Wars and Harry Potter talk. Maybe Cubs players. I like that one. Be easy."

"He must be happy about how they're doing …" At least that was some acknowledgement of his little boy as a person. Not just some afterthought in all this.

"Oh, yeah …," Hank allowed a thin smile. "Thrilled."

"Going to any games?"

He shrugged. More to himself. Because he didn't fucking know. Not to the Divisionals. And still up in the air if they'd get any farther than that. Giants could still rally. It was baseball. Never fucking knew.

"Not this round," he allowed. "Tickets are hard come by. Expensive."

And again with the silence. She apparently wasn't that interested. Just practicing her small talk too. But supposed that was something. She was at least letting him keep her on the phone for longer than usual. Supposed that said something too. About how she was really doing that weekend. How she was feeling. Maybe what she was looking for or hoping to hear. Maybe it wasn't all ghosts she was hearing in her ear that day. Or maybe it was more the ghosts she did want to hear somewhere in the background.

"You know some people around there?" he asked. "Takin' Henry out to a few houses on the Thrity-First?"

"I'll likely be working," she put flatly.

He leaned against the railing staring at the dog. Fucking thing was working on digging up the browning autumn grass. Might as well let him. The Triple Es were doing a good job at knocking divots in it anyway with hockey sticks that fall. E would be regretting that in the spring when he put him to work in the yard with the weekend chore list.

"Hadn't mentioned you'd found a job," he put to her. Again trying to keep anything out of his tone that might give away how he felt about that.

"Yea …"

"Where's it at?" he asked.

"The hotel my sister works at. The spa."

"Oh, yea?" he tried to perk up a bit. Tried to express his own interest. Support. "They have some PT or massage or reflexology stuff in there?" Fucking Arizona. Never knew. Seemed like a lot of people went out there to crunch on their granola and pretend they were all health conscious and in-touch with their bodies for a weekend.

"No," she said mutely, though. "Pedicures."

Hank gazed down to the dying grass at that. And again he didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to tell her that she was better than washing some rich bitches feet. Filing away their toenails and calluses.

Wanted to tell her that he'd been real proud when he'd heard she was studying to up to be a physical therapist. Wanted to tell her he was even more proud when she'd said she was specializing in therapy for multiple sclerosis patients. That he appreciated her interest and her support that way – especially when Justin had seemed so scared and in fucking denial about the whole thing. To know that his son had someone who was educated about it. Who he could talk to about it. Who could help him understand what his little brother was going through. What the family was going to have to face. It meant a lot. Been even more proud when she'd said she was going to finish out the course work up at a college when they got back to the city. That she was going to apply to do her residency type thing at one of the hospitals or clinics around town. That he thought that'd be real good for her. That he was real proud that she was thinking about her own future and her future of her family and setting an example for her son – and for his son too, as a wife and mother and woman. Made him feel real good about the kind of girl Justin had picked even if the intial pick had been driven a little by his dick and his wrong fucking head. But at least it was with a girl he knew – he was friend with – and not some one-night stand in some bar. Even if that's what it actually was. At least he knew her. And she'd known Camille. She knew the family. It counted.

And with all of that – she was so much more than some girl scrubbing at some old biddy's bunions. She didn't need to look at their fucking warts. If she wanted fucking warts – come back to Chicago. The family could show her their warts and all. And they'd be happy to look at hers too. Accept them. Roll with them. Didn't need to go filing them away. They could deal with them.

Could still get her into a college program for winter term. Could still pull some strings to get her on a residency. He could chat up people at RIC. He could chat up people at Med. He could try to get Halstead on board with talking to his brother. They could figure this all out. Get her sorted. And get her on a good track. That he was willing to do that. To help her with that. But he didn't know how to say that to her at all when she recoiled at him so much as talking to his grandson. Him so much asking how either of them were doing. Him hoping for some pictures and videos of Henry. Him trying to get some FaceTime with his baby boy so his own baby boy could talk to his nephew.

"Too bad about Halloween," he said. Knew that sounded fucking empty too. But maybe it should. Maybe emptiness spoke a hell of a lot more than fucking small talk.

"Well … I can't really be asking for time off when I just started …"

"Mmm …," Hank grunted, stooping a bit to pat at the dog.

Thing had decided it had enough time outside and wanted back in. Fucking muddy paws made that a no-deal, though. Mutt would have to wait until he was off the phone and could get them wiped off before he tracked the mess all over his wife's floors.

"About the time off …" he decided to just broach. Because she was almost allowing him to have a conversation with her. Though, this would likely quickly end it. "Don't want to pressure you, but really need to get a bit of an idea of what you're thinking for Thanksgiving."

And again they returned to that silence. Like if she didn't respond for a long enough time, he had some sort of dementia and would forget he'd tossed a question out at her.

"Olive," he sighed, sliding into that swing of his wife's. Letting it rock against his weight. "Still more than willing to finance you and Henry flying up here. Not about the cost. But these flights … they book up."

He waited. Giving her a chance to process that. To say something. Or more likely for he to try to string out giving an answer even longer. They were at six weeks out. What'd she want to wait to? A month? Two weeks? When did it become a moot point? Would he fucking let it become a moot point? Probably not. Probably still ask her on the Wednesday night if she was sure of her decision. If she wanted him to pack E in the car and drive all night to get down there. If there was some fucking plane, train or automobile he could find to get her and Henry up there at the last minute. He'd do it. If it meant he'd have what was left of his family together.

"I don't think I'll be ready to come back to Chicago in November," she finally whispered.

He exhaled slowly. Letting the force of it move with his sway on the porch swing.

"You be willing to have me and E visit you down there? Don't need to put your sister out. We'll book a room at a hotel," he tried. Really it was a beg. But knew his tone didn't likely register it as that. Because he didn't beg well. He wasn't sure he had it in him.

"I'll need to think about that …," she said just as quietly as before. Didn't know there was much to think about. It was an option he'd put to her before. Wasn't like this was some brand-spanking new idea flying out of left field.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his scrunched shut eyes, trying to keep it together. Hated how fucking much he needed to will himself to do that anymore. How much of his manhood seemed to be wrapped up around him using those two fingers to try to push back these fucking waterworks that just seemed to keep wanting to bubble out even two fucking months later. But he fucking knew, it didn't stop at two months. That even at six years the right kick – the right smack – still brought them to the surface.

"This about me?" he managed. "Us? Or me and J?" He was beyond sure she could likely hear the change in his voice then. Sure fucking hoped she didn't, though. "Because Erin's willing to bring E down. So he can see his nephew."

"It's not about you," she said.

But the answer felt so weak, he wasn't sure he believed her. Hard to tell on the fucking phone. Hard to tell not getting to look her in the eyes. But he'd seen what was in her eyes when she was trying to sneak out of the house without telling him she was going. And he didn't know where it was coming from. Because for anything J had said about growing up – they all had war stories and scars from their childhoods. And anything his son might've said – he'd tried with Olive. He'd tried with Henry. He'd been there for them. She knew him. He'd done his best to let her know him. To let her see him as a grandpa. To know the kind of family man he could be. That he was there for his family. That he was there for her and Henry. So he didn't understand why she was doing this. Now.

He let his hand fall away, pushing his tongue around his mouth. Poking it into his cheek. Trying to find the fucking answers. His dead giveaway that he was doing just that, according to Cami. But sometimes you just didn't fucking know.

"How'd you feel about meeting somewhere else?" he tried. "Halfway? Or I'd been thinking maybe booking something out at Lake—"

"Hank, I've really got to go," she interrupted. "Henry's awake. Crying."

He nodded even though he knew she couldn't see. "OK," he allowed. "Shoot me a text about when would be a good time—"

But she was gone. Heard the line cut in his ear. Just dead air. And he pressed his fingers into his eyes again. He let that swing rock. And he could feel his wife fucking next to him. Wanted to feel her arm around his shoulder right now. Wanted a hell of a lot more than that. But instead it just felt like she was disappointed with him. Telling him to fix this. All of it. And he couldn't fucking figure out how.

He let his hand come away, though, swiping at the tears that hadn't quite fallen but were sure as fuck there as he heard a clatter at the door again and a chastise of "Ethan!" just inside.

Managed to look up - to compose himself – to see his little boy standing there staring at him. Looked about as sad and defeated as he felt in that moment. Just fucking small and washed out.

"Hey, Magoo …," he tried and tried to give his boy something that resembled his usual thin-lipped grimace. "How you feeling?"

"Were talking to Olive?" Ethan asked unsurely, Erin coming closer up behind him and gazing out at him too.

"Yea …," Hank acknowledged.

"Did you talk to Henry?" E asked him with a bit more tone to it. Some accusation that he hadn't been woken up for that.

So Hank allowed him a sadder grimace and shook his head. "No," he rasped. "Henry was down for his nap. But Olive's going to …" he stopped because he could even hear in his voice that he was lying. That he was going to give his son some fucking half-truth that was never going to be a full one. A false hope. He shook his head and looked down at the deck before meeting his boy's eyes. "Let you call and leave a message tomorrow," he said. "Maybe you'll have more luck."

His boy eyed him. Erin did too. Could see it even through the door she was holding open a crack. The crack she'd let the fucking dog barge in passed her tracking his fucking dirt all over creation. But then it was E coming over to him, sitting himself on the swing, propelling it slightly with how he flopped down.

Hank sighed at him and wrapped his arm around the boy as he settled against him. "Shouldn't be out here, Magoo," Hank muttered against the top of his head. "Don't need you catching a bigger cold."

"There's a bigger cold than pneumonia?" E asked.

He smiled slightly against the top of his head, rubbing at his bicep.

"Is she said this weekend?" E asked quietly, Erin still lurking in the doorway, listening in.

"Yea …," Hank grunted. "Think so."

"Did she get the link?" E asked again.

"Yea …," he rasped because now he was going through this interrogation and debrief that he had to do every time that he actually got Olive on the line and was so much fucking harder than even talking to her. Because now he got to pass all the fucking disappointment, and this fucking tension and conflict that even as an adult he was having trouble understanding, onto his son.

"Did she like it?"

He squeezed at Eth's shoulder. "Hadn't had a chance to look at it yet, Magoo."

E rubbed his face against his chest. And Hank held him a bit tighter, glancing up as the door pushed more fully open and Erin came out. Treading wordlessly over and sitting on the opposite side of E. The swing swaying again with the added weight.

"It's got pictures and videos and stuff," E offered a little defeatedly.

He just held on. "You'll have to send it to me," Hank said. "Like to take a look."

"Me too," Erin said and her arm came up too. She leaned into her brother but with the way he was sloped against him, that arm ended up resting loosely across the back of Hank's shoulders. He met her eyes. But she just gave him her own agonized look. A brief one before looking away. Like she always did anymore.

"Did you remember to tell her about Breakfast with Sue?" Eth asked, though Hank knew his boy and knew the tone said he knew the answer to that question and what the question was really asking too.

"Did," Hank said. "But don't think that's something that will be happening this year."

"I think Henry would like it …," E whispered.

He held at his boy. "Think you're right."

"Mom would've taken him," E said.

Hank reached up with his free hand and pressed at his eyes again even though he could feel Erin looking. But she'd seen it enough the past two months. More than she should have. And as much as he hated that, also meant there wasn't that much reason to hide it. Not that he could. Because if he wasn't pressing the fingers up there right now, what he wouldn't be hiding were tears. And he'd rather his kids not see him blubbering again.

"Think you're right on that too," he pressed out. But his voice wavered enough, his son squirmed against him to look up. He kept his fingers at his eyes. Forcing himself to let them come down. Because their family looked each other in the eyes when they talked. Even in the good, the bad and the ugly. And knew in the moment he was pretty fucking ugly.

"I guess she said no to everything else too then," E mumbled, gazing at him. "Or will."

"Likely right there again," Hank rasped. A real gravel that time.

And his kid just settled against him. Starring straight ahead without comment. Erin too. So Hank joined them. The haze of heat radiating off the barbecue. That's about all there was to look at in front of them. Some fucking real ghostly breeze. One they could actually see. Unlike the rest of the ghosts in the damn house.

But at least right then he had two of his real things – his remaining things – on that swing. Had that arm around him. Had someone – someones – to sit with. Even right then in his ugly. Weren't running away.


	27. Pillow Talk

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 25 (REAL UGLY). IT WILL REORDERED LATER.**

Jay forced himself to stop listening to the hacking that was going on in the lower level of the house and rotated his head to gaze at Erin. They usually had some sort of pillow talk in the dark as they tried to drift off but he got the sense they'd both headed upstairs well before either of them was actually that ready to sleep. They'd both ended up staring at their phones for a while rather than talking – likely because nothing ever felt that private in Voight's house. But he'd stopped a while ago, even though he still wasn't exactly tired. He likely wouldn't be able to sleep if he wanted to with the way Eth was still coughing. Voight had come up and brought the kid downstairs, likely to try to let them sleep. Jay wouldn't exactly say it was working. Though, Erin wasn't acting like she had any interest in trying to sleep yet either. She was still fiddling on her phone.

"Is Burgess texting?" he asked with the way her thumbs were flying around.

She gave him a small glance and turned back to what she was doing. "Just making some notes on things I want to remember to ask at this teacher conference thing," she muttered.

Jay craned his neck to look at the screen a bit. As much as he could see from that angle. "Erin, a lot of it is likely just going to be he does dick-all in class."

She gave him slightly accusing eyes. "He's not stupid," she pressed. "The marks on that thing show him basically failing everything, Jay. That doesn't make sense."

He cocked his eyebrow at her. "Are you forgetting how much he fights with us about homework?" She made a 'what's your point' face. "His teachers don't have time to deal with that shit."

"They're paid to deal with that shit," she muttered.

Jay snorted and shook his head, gazing at the ceiling. "Not like that. Not when they've got a classroom of other kids. He wants to argue about it and not do the work – reaches a point that that's just what they are going to let him do."

"If that's what's happening they should be telling us," she huffed and flipped open her calendar instead. Apparently she didn't like him snooping at the notes to herself she was writing.

"Now what are you doing?" he asked.

She just kept staring at the phone, scrolling through the next couple weeks on her phone. Gazing at the various appointments she already had booked into there.

"I was going to call tomorrow and make a doctor's appointment," she said flatly.

"Why …?" he asked, this brow creasing with some concern.

She shrugged. "I think I'm going to make an appointment to get an IUD …"

He gazed at her more but his brow only creased more. He frowned. "Is this about that flyer on the fridge?" he asked carefully.

She shook her head but didn't look at him. And he didn't believe her. He'd been acting off since then – and she'd disclosed to him in a brief private moment they'd gotten that day that she's seen the flyer for the Santa breakfast and the date and it'd just hit her in a way she hadn't been prepared for. It was unexpected. And when she'd said it, it hit him too.

It wasn't like he didn't think about it. Because he did. It was just that lately there hadn't been a lot of opportunity to think about it. And there'd been even less opportunity to talk about it. It hadn't really seemed like Erin wanted to talk about it anyway.

"It will just be easier," she put flatly. "With the move and the extra shifts I've been picking up, my schedule. Him," she gestured dismissively at the door as Eth entered another fit of coughs downstairs. You could almost hear Hank patting him none too gently on the back trying to help him cough some of the gunk out of his lungs so he could calm and sleep too. "I won't have to worry about remembering to take the pill every day. At the same fucking time every day."

"Erin …," he sighed at her. But she just kept looking at her phone. It looked like she'd found a gap next week that she thought might provide a window to go and get this thing shoved up inside her. "We're using condoms."

She allowed him a small glance. "Not hundred percent, we aren't," she put flatly.

He sighed harder and shifted to his side to really look at her, reaching to get her to put the phone down and to look at him. "I'll make sure we start using them hundred percent," he told her directly.

She caught his eyes more directly – firmly. "We both like it better without the condoms," she put.

He gazed at her. It was true. There was something about the intimacy of it. The skin-to-skin contact. The excitement of it. It was all just different. Or maybe it was different because Erin was the first woman he'd actually forgone a condom with. But that said something about their relationship and intimacy too. But the reality was it just felt better. Whether that was because of losing the condom or because of their relationship – it didn't really matter.

Jay traced his finger down her arm and found her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, even though she fought him for a moment. She tried to make it difficult for him. But that was pretty standard for Erin. She never did anything the easy way. And she didn't let anyone do anything to make it much easier either.

"We're going to be in the townhouse soon," he told her and squeezed her hand, though she was doing her best to stare across the room and avoid eye contact. "You want to go and file for a marriage license. We could probably start thinking about no contraceptive at all."

She let out a slow breath and shook her head again. "It's too soon to start thinking about that."

He squeezed her hand again – especially since she hadn't moved it away. "Erin, there's never going to be a perfect time or a right time to start thinking about or talking about or trying again."

Her eyes moved to him. "But now's a really bad time," she said. "If I put in for a transfer, if I'm starting in a new unit with a new boss. I can't be needing ass-duty and maternity leave."

He gazed at her. Her eyes were sad. There was a glistening there. One that wasn't about Justin or all that her baby brother was going through. Her stress and sadness about this situation and dynamics they had been dragged into. This glean was all about them – about them as a couple, their own pain, their own future, their own family and their own loss.

"Are you going to put in for a transfer?" he asked carefully.

Because they'd talked about that and then they'd stopped talking about that. And right now it just seemed like it wasn't something she was up to discussing or thinking about anymore. Though, very clearly she'd still been thinking about it. She just didn't want for them to bat back-and-forth ideas about how they wanted to handle their relationship and their careers in light of their current situation with Voight that transcended into realms of personal and professional, making it even more difficult to navigate in the context of what they wanted out of their own lives, careers and futures.

"I don't know," she sighed, slouching more heavily into the pillows she had propping her up. "Yes. Maybe."

"We could go back to Plan A," Jay suggested. "I could put in for a transfer. You stay put. He hasn't been that bad with you work-wise."

Her eyes shifted to him at that. "I don't want you to transfer," she said a little weakly.

He squeezed her hand again. "Then we could just both stay put. For now."

"We can't," she said. "Not if we go through with getting married soon."

He gave a small shrug. "So then we put that off for a bit. It doesn't change anything. Nothing important."

Which was true and it wasn't. In so many ways, he didn't feel like having that piece of paper would change their relationship at all. But in other ways, it felt like it so fundamentally did. And some days he couldn't decide how much he wanted to push for them to get to it. How much he wanted – or needed – that promise and commitment from her. How much he wanted – or needed – to make that promise and commitment to her. And if having a piece of paper that said that, and an extra piece of jewelry to wear, really changed anything in the long run. But maybe it was the long run that did change. Maybe that's why they needed it. Or maybe their pasts made them need it more than their futures.

"You didn't want our engagement to go for longer than a year …," she muttered.

He gave a little shrug. "Things change," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't think you are either."

She gazed at him. He could tell she was processing and weighing what he said. Deciding what she felt about that. What she thought he felt about it. How much truth was in his statement. Or how much he was just telling her what she wanted to hear in that moment.

The thing was, Jay wasn't much for telling her what she wanted to hear. He more told her what she needed to hear – whether or not she wanted to hear it in a given moment.

"We told Hank we'd give him a date within a year," she said with audible distaste.

"I think we've been doing Voight enough favors lately and turning enough blind eyes that he can keep turning his for a while longer," Jay contended.

Erin sighed and looked away again. "Crowley is going to clue in eventually – if she hasn't already. And with the way she's been on Intelligence's ass since …" she trailed off, shaking her head in the continued unspoken thought of 'that night'. That booby trap that she felt she'd stepped in and how she was still waiting for some sort of dominos to come cascading down.

Only Jay thought that, for now, they were safe from that. That Voight had done what he'd done. He'd played his game and laid his cards on the table in whatever choices he'd made. He'd made his choices. And Erin had made hers in what role she played in that. How she'd participated. What stories she'd told. What blind eyes she'd turned. And Jay had gone along with that. Giving her the space she needed to try to live with her decisions while making sure she knew he was there if she wanted to – needed to – say more about it. Only he knew she wouldn't – that she didn't feel she could – for now. Because she didn't want him to get caught in the web either. She didn't want it to bring him down too.

But Jay thought – hoped – they were beyond that. The past may come back to haunt them all. But for now, Crowley might be crawling up Intelligence's ass. She might be coming down on them. CPD might be shifting and changing with the dynamics and politics of the city – and the country. But for now it didn't seem like anyone was directly after Voight. Not anymore. Not about that.

The meetings they'd all been called into with their union reps and at the Ivory Tower and with the IAB had seemed to stop. Or if anyone was still being talked to, it wasn't something that those people were still chatting about in the locker room anymore. It wasn't something they were going to each other for advice anymore. And if an investigation into Voight, and what had happened to his son's killer, was still ongoing, it was happening quietly. Behind closed doors. There'd been no further mention of it. Not at work and not in his house. There didn't seem to be the kind of stress or ducking out of work or parenting duties to deal with meeting and connections that Jay would've expected if the guy still felt he was under some sort of threat.

If anything, Jay would say that most people within CPD and otherwise, seemed to be treating Voight very collidally. Like nothing had happened. Like they were instilling the same about of respect – and trust versus mistrust in him has they had previously. That they just saw him as a guy who got the job done. And that a lot of times that meant doing the job his way – which meant there wouldn't be pussy-footing around or playing politics to get what Voight saw as the best possible outcome in a given scenario. And that that's what people liked about him and respected about him. So they were just going to add what may or may not have happened to the rumor mill. Another story about who and what Hank Voight was that you could very really be sure if it was true or hersay. Because there were a lot of stories about the guy.

But the reality was that if what happened that night was what Jay suspected happened, it wasn't the first time Voight had crossed that line. There were the stories about what happened to the people involved in the death of his wife and the injury of Eth. There were the stories about what had happened the night Olinsky's parent died. There were the things Jay had seen down at the docks and at the Silos. There were the things Erin told him about the Silos and Voight's trips there going back to when she was a teenager. There was the time Voight had spent in jail for crossing lines and the lengths he'd gone to to try to cover up wrongs for Justin. There were other bodies that had been pulled out of the river in murders that had never been solved but with people who were a little too connected to Voight, his history and his Social Club for comfort.

But there was also the reality that Kevin Bingham had killed a cop's son. He'd killed a member of the U.S. Army. And rightly or wrongly, killing a cop's child – or spouse – came with repercussions. Ones that too often fell well outside of the legal realm. And ones that blind eyes – by cops and lawyers – often got blind eyes turned to. If someone did pursue it it was little more than lip service to create the illusion that due process and rightful consideration had been given to the case. Due diligence had been done, so that all the little boxes could be ticked off and signatures placed on the appropriate dotted lines. And everyone could pretend like they were just moving on in good conscience.

Jay wasn't sure he supported when that happened. He wasn't sure he could believe that that did anything to make the CPD – or any police – less crooked. But at the same time, he knew he'd crossed lines in the past. That he'd pulled triggers. He'd mounted revenge. And that was something he'd have to live with. Yet, somehow it always felt different here. Somehow it couldn't see America or Chicago as being as grey as so many of the morals were when you were at war. Though, he knew a lot of cops in Chicago would argue they were at war. That a war was happening in their own city's streets and they were barely keeping any sort of order. It was a constant battle. And that sometimes – people had to go down for the crimes that had been committed. Sometimes the crime had been so atrocious that you couldn't trust the legal system anymore to do what was right. To create any sort of justice. So you had to take it into your own hands. That there was rightful justice in executing that kind of crime – for the greater good.

But Jay had looked down that barrel before. And he still didn't know that was the kind of cop he could be. The kind of man. And he wasn't sure he wanted to be either.

He did know, though, that they didn't need to be looking over their shoulders quite as regularly anymore. They weren't on quite as many eggshells. He didn't feel like any of them were waiting for an anvil to fall. And, although, there was something to be said about complacence – and it's dangers. He didn't think they needed to keep living their lives like they were under a microscope. Because they weren't. Not as far as he could tell.

And, now, it was Voight's responsibility to not get complacent. It was his responsibility to keep tabs on what sort of investigation or monitoring might still be happening behind closed doors. His responsibility to know who's thumb he might be under. And it was his responsibility to tell them what they needed to know. To protect them now – after they'd more than protected him. Saved him. If they had reason to be concerned – reason to put their guards back up and to go on high alert – it was him who had to tell them.

Unless he wanted to get them into a bigger mess than they already were. Unless he wanted any of them to get hurt more. For him to really lose what he had left. And, Jay didn't think that was Voight's intentions either. Not now. Not that he'd calmed and could think a bit more clearly. He'd just gone off the leash. He was like a bulldog with a bone. But his judgment had been clouded by his loss. And Jay could understand that on some level. He'd had moments where what he thought was right and wrong - who he thought he was and what he wanted to be – had disappeared in the gravity of the situation. And he'd become something – someone – else. He'd done things that he may not have thought were in his character. But sometimes it's in those moments that you learn the most about yourself. About who and what you really are. And sometimes that's as scary as fuck. To face that. To live with that.

And maybe they'd seen that in Voight in those moments. While he'd dealt with the gravity of that loss. While he'd had another piece of his humanity ripped away from him when he'd already lost so much.

Jay wanted to say – to think – he'd do better than that. He'd do differently than that. If he was faced with a similar situation. But he didn't know he would. He'd dealt with enough situations in his life that he knew that he didn't always react the way he idealized. The way he hoped. That sometimes he wasn't as good as he aspired to be. He wasn't the man he wanted to be. But he did the best he could in that moment.

And Voight had done the same. Like it or hate it. He'd dealt with it the best his flaws as a man and a cop and a human being allowed him to. And now he just had to deal with that. They all understood that. And Voight understood that if he fucked up how he dealt with it – if he slipped up, or crossed that line in that way again in a visible way – that he really would lose what he had left. That he'd hurt the ones he did have left and he was still having to repair that. Maybe he always could. And if that kind of hurt ever happened again – it might be beyond repair.

"It's too soon anyway …," Erin had provided.

It saved Jay from trying to figure out some politically incorrect way to say that Crowley could go fuck herself. Right along with Voight and his timelines. The only timeline that mattered anymore was their own. Their lives. Their future. The rest could come and go. As long as they managed to keep those two things – them – together.

Her eyes set on him. "It's only been four months," she said with a head shake. Her free hand reaching to comb through her hair. "I just got thrown off seeing that date. Now it's almost surreal to think we would've had a baby by Christmas."

"I know …," Jay allowed.

But he couldn't allow too much more. Because thinking about it still hurt. It was surreal too how quickly he'd let himself get attached to the idea. And not just the idea – to that little person they'd created that was growing inside of her. How much he'd decided it was going to be a boy. And all the things he'd already started thinking about what he'd want to do with his son. How he'd raise a boy differently than his dad. What kind of father he'd be. What kind of relationship they'd have. All this potential this little boy had and how he'd help him get there. How he'd nurture it. How he wouldn't snuff him out. But then all of it had been snuffed out. So fucking quickly.

He supposed maybe it hurt too because they'd had so little time to deal with it. To think about it. To talk about it. Before they were buried in all of this. Trying to figure out how to deal with the fallout of a situation not of their own making. How they were trying to help another little boy from being snuffed out in the process.

And as much as Jay still didn't know how to talk about any of this, he also sort of wanted to talk about it. He sort of wanted to have a plan beyond they'd try again later. Or that they'd go back to Erin's original plan of maybe trying when she was around thirty-three and had the ten-years under her belt that she wanted in her career before she started taking time off for kids. Before she had to start compromising her choices about her schedule and her assignments. Before she had to start thinking more about injuries or danger or life-and-death and getting home at night on the job. Even though with Eth – especially now with him blaring it in their faces – they were already thinking about that.

Because as much as Jay acknowledged that they hadn't been ready. Not when they'd ended up pregnant. He felt like they were moving toward being ready now. And there was a part of him that wanted to know when they were going to start trying – consciously. There was a part of him that couldn't get that idea out of his head. About them as a complete family. About them having kids. About them using those extra rooms in the townhouse as more than space for Eth and an a home gym. About adding that little boy to their lives. Or a little girl. And everything lately – the past few months – for him, it hadn't made him think about it less. It'd made him think about it more.

"I can't even imagine being pregnant now," Erin said, though, and cast him a look. Like she'd heard his thoughts. "Maybe it was for the best. This stress … everything … it would've been so bad for the baby."

"Yea …," Jay acknowledged.

Because she did have a point. The stress of everything had been rough on her anyway. He could see it. She's lost weight. She'd gained weight. She lost weight again. She just looked tired. And gaunt. She wasn't eating right. She wasn't sleeping right. It would've been added help on her if she was pregnant. And who knows what that would've done to her body – and sanity – and the baby's.

So maybe things did happen for a reason. Maybe the world had other plans and knew more than them about what the future held. But it didn't really make things feel any easier.

Erin slouched a bit, though, putting her head on his shoulder as they both gazed straight ahead. "Camille would've loved that picture, though," she said. "Eth and two grandbabies? With Santa and Sue?"

"Have a feeling it would've been more than Eth out of that generation who was in the photo …," Jay said.

Erin made an amused sound. He felt her smile gently against where her head was resting nuzzled between his shoulder and neck. "Yea, you're right."

"Voight likely would've liked that picture too …," Jay said.

The smile faded a little against his shoulder. "Likely …," she said quietly. And they sat there. "I don't know if Ethan really wants to go if he can't take Henry."

Jay shrugged a little. "Have to ask him," he allowed. "Hard to tell. A little old for that kind of thing."

"I know …," Erin acknowledged.

There was a sadness there too. Because when they did talk about the baby it was usually in the context of Eth. Things Eth made them thing about. Things they liked doing with Eth. Things they realized Eth was getting too old for. Things they'd miss getting to do with him. Things they could've done with Henry as an aunt and uncle but weren't getting to now. Things that would've been hard to do with him now that they'd had a glimpse of an opportunity to have a child of their own. This quiet realization before they'd even had a child of their own that they grow up too quickly. And they change in front of your eyes in ways you don't expect. And they can be taken away from you just as rapidly. And you miss it.

"It's hard to listen to him talking about Halloween right now," she whispered. "And talking about Justin. It's making me angry …"

"Why?" he asked, reaching to stroke along her arm that had moved to rest across him, gripping at his shoulder.

"Because it was Camille who did Halloween with him. Then after his mom was gone, I took him out until …," she sighed. "He got sent to boarding school …. Justin never did anything with him. And now this fucking … vague promise to take him to Halloween Haunts, that likely wouldn't have even happened … and he's just clinging to it."

"He's just trying to cling to something positive about his brother, babe," he told her.

"It wouldn't have ended positively," she muttered. "There would've been another fight and more disappointment and tears."

He stroked at her arm. "He knows, Erin. He's just …" he sighed. "Trying to find good things to think about and remember." She sighed and rubbed her face against his shoulder a bit. "We going to volunteer to take him?" he asked.

She gave her head a shake. "I don't really want to," she said.

"We going to volunteer as chaperones at the RIC party?" he asked instead.

She sighed and shrugged. "I don't know. Do you want to? We could probably get a CAPS shift that night."

He shrugged too. He didn't really care either way. He didn't get impression that Eth particularly cared either. Or at least he hadn't approached them about chaperoning at the party. He also hadn't said he didn't want them anywhere near it either. He'd just dropped some hints about this Halloween Haunts thing, that Jay wasn't too interested in going to either. But he would've gone if Eth asked or Erin wanted to take him.

The kid was hacking again on the main floor. It was just echoing through the house.

"You think we should go see if they need anything?" Jay asked.

Erin shook her head. "Hank would let us know if he didn't have it under control." Jay nodded but she twisted her head to gaze up at him. He met her eyes. "You don't have to sleep here, Jay. You'll get more rest if you head back to the condo."

He rubbed her arm. "Maybe I sleep better with you," he said with a small tease.

She arched her eyebrow at him. "You hate my pillows."

"I don't hate your pillows," he said flatly.

"You hate my pillows," she put to him again.

He gave his head a little shake. "I hate your pillows when they end up on my side of my bed. Or on top of me. Or wedged between us like some kind of barrier."

"Additional contraceptive," Erin gave in a weak tease.

"Oh …," Jay nodded with his own sarcasm. "That's their real purpose …"

Eth's coughing echoed again. Jay could almost feel it rattling against his own chest with the power of it. He felt bad for the kid. It must hurt.

"Speaking of contraceptive," Jay said with a headshake. "Amazing they ended up with him with how fucking thing these walls are."

Erin made a small sound. "It didn't stop them. I could likely pinpoint the night Ethan was conceived."

"Gross," Jay said, giving her hand a little squeeze for painting that mental picture.

The amused noise repeated. "That's what headphones were made for," she said. "And it's not like they were hang from the rafters people anyway. At least not when we were in the house and within earshot."

"And that is a larger mental picture I do not need," he muttered.

He felt a small smile play at her lips again. "Like you never overheard your parents," she commented.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure my conception was the last time my parents had sex," Jay said.

Erin's head twisted to look up at him again and he moved his eyes away from his examination of the wall ahead of them. "That's sad," she said with this genuineness to it. This real heartbreak and concern in her voice. A genuine sadness.

But Jay just shrugged. "It was a pretty sad marriage," he allowed, shifting his eyes back to the wall.

Because sometimes talking about his parents was too much. Sometimes thinking about it – about how his mother had endured that for so long for him and Will – made him sad too. Because she deserved better. Because if she'd had the strength to escape, she might've been happier. Maybe she would've found a man who treated her better. Maybe she would've found a man who knew how – or wanted to be – a father.

Instead she'd used all her strength to go through hell because she somehow thought that it was best for him and Will. And within her religious, Irish Catholic upcoming, maybe that was all she knew. All she could believe. Maybe it was all she felt her community and family would support.

But somehow that just made him sadder too. Because he thought his grandfather would've come and packed up the house himself, tossing all of them in the car and whisking them far away, the moment his mother had given him indication that she was ready to – that she wanted to – leave. But she hadn't. And they'd all been trapped there.

Erin shifted her head, rubbing her check against his shoulder again, as she found her own place on the wall to stare at too. "If we ever each the point that we can't stand each other that much and are that disinterested in sex, I want us to get divorced," she muttered.

Jay just shrugged again. Even though hearing that – divorce – before they were even married came with its own sting. Because he supposed – like his mother – divorce wasn't something that he really felt he had in him as a consideration. Marriage was for life. It was for the long haul. He wouldn't have proposed it if he didn't think that he'd be with Erin five, ten, fifteen, twenty … fifty years down the road. Until death did them part. That was his plan. He wanted it to be hers too.

"Sex and marriage are complicated …," was all he said, though. Because he'd been with Erin long enough to know that they both had enough baggage about sex that they both had moments of disinterest that didn't have anything to do with being tired on a particular night. And he didn't know that them having a dry spell would be grounds for divorce. Not for him. People had dry spells when they were single. It seemed like they did while they were married too. It was how you dealt with that that was the measure of the couple and the relationship.

"Yea …," was all the acknowledgement Erin provided, though. "I guess in some ways, even though it took me another decade to internalize it, it was good to see … or hear … sex in a context where people weren't drunk or stoned or using it as some sort of currency or manipulation. That it was just two people who cared about each other."

Jay allowed a sound of acknowledgement. Partially because he didn't want to think about Voight's sex life – or what had gone in the bedroom, who's abutting wall they were currently leaning again. And partially because he thought sex in marriage was likely more complicated than that too. That as much as you loved and cared about each other – and even if you wanted each other – that sex was a form of currency in any relationship. It was some sort of duty and responsibility. Or at least an expectation. That you both had to figure out how to negotiate and provide. And that was still some sort of manipulation. Even if it was done from a place of love and respect.

His and Erin's sex life – their whole relationship – felt like some sort of constant negotiation. This frightening, scary, vulnerable negotiation. Figuring out each other's boundaries and learning how to work within them and respect them while still trying to get what you wanted and needed out of the relationship – so that it could actually be a relationship. But it'd been like that from Day One. From the teasing to the actual teasing. That was its own form of manipulation. To the exploration and then this seeming mapping they did of each other now. This weird combination of want and need. Acknowledgment of boundaries and baggage but this putting up of fronts about what they outwardly wanted others to believe they were. Pulling all that way in the bedroom and in this intimacy that still scared the shit out of him on so many levels. It was a strange process.

A fucking trail – a path – that he'd gone a hell of a lot farther down with Erin than he ever had with anyone else. One that still lead to some fucking dark places. One that sometimes still fucking felt like they were missing pieces of the map. But he supposed they'd both had enough of a worldview – and that they liked enough of what they saw – that they'd fallen for each other. Madly. But even that seemed like this slow back-and-forth.

"I didn't even mean it that way …," Erin muttered.

Jay gazed down at her again. "What?" he asked. Because he was sort of surprised they were wading into loftier territories. Not with where they were. Not with the kind of weekend it'd been.

"About pinpointing Ethan's conception," she said, rubbing her cheekbone against his shoulder blade again.

"Oh …," he allowed.

"I meant it as …," she sighed. "I kind of went off the rails at sixteen." His eyes drifted back to hers and she looked up at him. "When Hank and Camille took me in, it was just a short-term guardianship. Bunny had to sign the paperwork. It can only be extended for two years. Before the lawyers get involved. DCFS."

He squinted at her. "I thought you said Voight's your legal guardian?"

"He is," she said quietly and went back to gazing at the wall. "They were able to file to adopt of me since Bunny hadn't been involved for two years. She'd disappeared. So they argued abandonment. Said she was an unfit parent."

"She is …," Jay allowed flatly.

She was and she still was. Even with thirty years to figure out how to be a mother – she still hadn't. She still fucked things up. She still acted like she was the child in the relationship. And Jay still hoped that she stayed wherever the fuck she'd gone to when she'd tried to detonate Voight and had ended up almost detonating his family in the process. She was lucky she'd had the chance to run. That she hadn't ended up like Bingham. Or worse. Because it wasn't the first time she'd tried to hurt people Voight loved. That much was clear. And Jay was getting pretty sick of watching her hurt Erin too. And he'd only had to bear partial witness to it. But he'd heard enough. He'd seen enough of the long term implications of what a childhood with Bunny had done to Erin. The damage and baggage it'd caused that the woman he loved would be carrying the rest of her life.

But Erin just cast him a warning look – like she somehow didn't agree. That she wasn't going to. Not tonight. And she continued. "So there were all these … legal bills that they likely couldn't afford. But they did. They paid for it. Only there were discussions … arguments … about it … the adoption … in the basement … leading up to the date they needed to appear in court to file this."

"What were they arguing about?" Jay asked, raising his eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I guess the money involved. I guess Bunny. The stress and the mess of the entire situation. But to me it felt like they were arguing about if they wanted me. And that just felt like … they didn't want me."

"Erin …," Jay sighed at her. Because he knew how much she struggled with that. That she had this complex that she wasn't good enough. That she didn't count for much. That she had all these excuses built up around it. But he also knew – now even more – that Voight had fought for her. He'd believed in her – and her potential and who she could become and who she really was – so much that he'd very literally fought for her. And he wished Erin could see that more. He wished she could understand how much that counted for. He wished he'd had someone like that in his life.

She rubbed her cheek against him. "The lawyers … they had to locate Bunny and tell her. That they were trying to adopt me. Get custody of me. So she could come to court and argue to keep her parental rights, if she wanted. I don't think anyone thought that would happen. I don't think I thought it would happen. But she actually showed up."

"So the adoption didn't get approved," Jay acknowledged flatly. Because he'd been a cop long enough. He'd dealt with enough said stories and broken families and unfit parents to know how this worked. And how it fucking worked was it didn't matter how fucking unless the parent was, if you shared biology, they got to keep some sort of rights to you. That you were stuck with them until your eighteenth birthday when the court's say didn't matter anymore. And for so many fucking people – that was such fucking bullshit.

"It didn't," Erin allowed shallowly. "So then there were more fights in the basement. And I was … just … so confused. I felt like … what I heard in that courtroom … from Bunny … it was the truth."

"What kind of fucking show did she put on there?" Jay hissed.

Erin shrugged. "She said she'd been trying to get clean. That she was in a program. That she was off the smack. And that she'd been trying to see me. That she wanted to see me and be a part of my life. But that Hank had been keeping her from me. And I believed her."

"Never trust a word a junkie says," Jay muttered.

"You trust me …," Erin said quietly.

He let out a slow breath and looked at her. "You aren't a junkie," he told her sternly.

"I was," she whispered.

"A drug problem is different. You got clean," he pressed harder.

"I've had relapses …," he said.

"And you've got clean again. Because you are not a junkie. And that's not the kind of life you want for yourself. It's not who you are."

"Once an addict, always an addict," she said.

"Because it's a disease. And you've gotten help and treatment," he told her.

"So Bunny's isn't a disease?" she put to him, gazing his eyes.

"You can't cure selfish," Jay muttered. "There's not fix for the kind of cancer she is."

Erin's eyes welled and she looked away but settled back against him. "I decided I wanted to give her another chance."

"And you still do that," Jay said under his breath. "You've got to stop doing that."

"I was sixteen," Erin said with some indignation. "I want to see her. I wanted to see my mom. Even though Hank said no. Camille had discouraged it. I think it hurt them. Badly. That I still wanted her to be a part of my life."

"Yea …," Jay said. He could see that. But he supposed every parent with an adopted child faced that in some context eventually. Not that that would make things any easier. Especially not after the sacrifices you've made. It'd sting.

"I went anyway," Erin said with her own sadness apparent. Her glassy eyes shifted to his again. "I ran away."

"Charlie?" he asked flatly. Because the timeline was becoming clearer. Things he'd learned about her. Things she'd said in the past. People he'd met. People she'd mentioned.

She nodded. "Yea …," she acknowledged. "Because Bunny … for all the talk. She wasn't there when I went looking. And Charlie was. And that … was a mess."

Her eyes gazed at him with this steely deadness to them. It reminded him all too much of the way her eyes had gone while that asshole was back in town and fucking with her head again. The past he'd dredged up. The trouble he'd tried to drag her into again. And how he'd tried to bring her down.

"I had to … get Hank to fix it for me," she said with some hesitation. The not so discrete hint that there was far more to that story but it wasn't one she was willing to share. Not right now. Not tonight. "To let me come back. And he did. But it was a mess. Such a fucking mess. Everything that … I'd … we'd … kicked. All the habits. We had to go through it again. And it seemed worse. That time around. Harder. And they had more fights in the basement."

"Because they cared and they saw the kid they were raising suffering again," Jay told her firmly. Because he could sense where this was going. This 'I'm bad news' mantra. That she brought bad news into the lives of those around her. That she just kept screwing up. That she carried this darkness and cast it on others. And all it did was bring everyone down. And Jay didn't know what person she saw when she looked in the mirror. But that wasn't the Erin he knew and it hurt when she got on those tangents.

She sighed, though she didn't argue his point. So maybe that counted for something. Maybe it was an acknowledgement that she didn't believe everything she was saying. Maybe she was starting to understand and know her worth – not just to herself but to those around her.

"Then … one night, they sat me down at the dining table," she said quietly. "After Justin was in bed. And they told me Camille was pregnant. And they said if I wanted to stay there, they weren't going to deal with what I'd put through the family again. Not while Camille was pregnant. Not while there was a baby in the house. Not in front of a little boy. So I had to make a choice about what I wanted and who I wanted as a family and where I wanted to be. I had to promise that Ethan was never going to see me like that. That I was never going to put the family through that again."

"And you did," Jay affirmed.

"I did," she nodded at a whisper. "I made that promise. And Hank pulled some sort of strings so they could get legal guardianship instead of adopting me. Even though … I don't know what he did. Because doing that when there's a living parent?" She shrugged. "But he did it."

"So that should tell you that the fighting – it was fighting for you," Jay told her, trying to find her eyes but she was staring over him. Past him and out the window into the dark.

"In the eleven years after that, I only ever heard from Bunny once. And Hank got in front of it before I could see her. Stopped it in its tracks. Two times. Two times in almost thirteen years that she even tried to be part of my life. Took any interest in me. And lately, I've still been feeling like … I'm glad he only got guardianship. That I'm not his adopted child. That Bunny's still my mom."

"Erin …," Jay sighed at her and gripped at her shoulder.

"It's true," she said. "I know it's a technicality. But … I don't want to be his daughter. Not right now."

He held her tightly. "You might feel differently with some more time …"

"I don't think so," she muttered. "He's just as much of a cancer as Bunny. A different kind. But still a cancer."

He gazed at her sadly. "He's a mess. But he's a good dad. He tries."

She shrugged. She acted indifferent. But he wouldn't buy it. Not the way Erin defended Voight. Not the way he'd seen her treat him and him treat her – even as an adult child. Not the way he'd seen Voight with Eth. Or with his grandson. And even for all the ways he might've fucked up with Justin, he'd also seen a man who cared deeply about his son – even if some of his choices on how to express that were morally questionable, at least and morally reprehensible, at worse.

"He raised you better than you think," Jay argued. "Or better than you're letting yourself think right now."

She shrugged. "So he raised me. I've paid him back. We're even."

"Erin … that's not how family works," he told her more firmly, holding her tightly.

"He's not family," she said so flatly. "Not anymore."

"If you really believe that we wouldn't be here right now," Jay put flatly.

Because you don't do the things Erin did for a man you didn't consider family. You don't care for a little boy the way Erin did for Eth if you didn't consider him family. You don't cry for someone like Justin, if he wasn't your brother. You don't get that far away look in your eye when talking about Voight's wife, if she hadn't been a mother to you. You don't come home on the weekend of your dead brother's birthday to be with your sick little brother and to provide support to the father you can hardly stand to look at in that moment, if it wasn't family. Family isn't always blood. Sometimes family that isn't blood is better than the ones you're born into. The Voights kept proving that to him over and over again. They were as fucked up – maybe more fucked up – as any other family he knew. But they were still family. They still had each other. They still cared.

She let out slow breath and buried her face farther into his chest. But he shifted slightly, forcing her to bring her eyes to his. They were glassing again.

"Hey …," he whispered at her.

But she shook her head and tried to look away. So he stooped and found her mouth instead, kissing her and letting them both sink down into the mattress. She kissed back.

It was slow at first. Chaste meets and breaks. But they both mutually slowly deepened it. Until it was something more than just a connection meant for some comfort. It still had that but there were other layers to it. And the movements of both their hands and bodies only confirmed that.

She broke slightly from him and gazed at him with that look. The one that wasn't a tease. It wasn't her trying to be enticing or sexy. She wasn't trying to get him going. She was struggling with her own uncertainty about what her wants and needs were. About rights and wrongs – in that moment and in that room and in that house and in that family and in their relationship … that night.

Jay, though, could tell what she wanted in that moment. What she thought she needed. That maybe they both needed. But he had his own hesitation. About rights and wrongs and lines of respect and boundaries – in that room and in that house and in that family.

Still he gazed at her and what her eyes were saying to him – without her speaking. Yet, he jutted his head just slightly toward the door – that didn't have a lock. Toward the outside where just down the stairs they could still hear intermittent hacks wracking through Eth's lungs and chest. Mumbled gravels from Voight as he tried to calm and help his child through the night and a weekend – that would've been hard enough with pneumonia. And the sounds of something that he couldn't make out on the TV – but was likely some sports program. Some sort of distraction for them to get through their own demons that night that didn't sound like they'd be doing much sleeping.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

But she gave a little nod. "Yea," she whispered and leaned back in to find his mouth.

And that was all the permission he needed. He returned the kiss and started moving to push aside some of their lower clothing under the covers. Because if he couldn't fix her family in that moment, he could at least try to show her in his own way that she was loved and cared for and important. And that if this wasn't the family she thought she wanted or needed anymore, that he could work with her. He could help her – help them – work at figuring out how to move toward creating the family they wanted.

Someday. Maybe soon. Sooner than they thought.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: I've added several chapters of the holiday. Please check to make sure you didn't miss them. Checking In, The Best Parts, Launching Point and Grappling have all been added in the past several days. They haven't been reordered yet and appear immediately before this.**

 **Your readership, comments and reviews are much appreciated.**

 **Next chapter I work on will either be the chapter at the resort when Erin/Jay go to see Ethan/Hank, or the one that will to go way back to Erin/Jay talking after he'd had a bit of a thing with Will, a Platt chapter that includes Ethan/Eva/Evan and some elements of a CPD episode from earlier this season, or a Ethan chapter set after the Christmas party that includes the other kids, Voight and likely a bit of the other kids' parents and possibly Erin and Jay too.**


	28. Grappling

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 25 (REAL UGLY). IT WILL REORDERED LATER.**

Jay sat there staring at Eth. Stooping, trying to keep the kid's eyes. But Eth had hunched over on himself, gazing at his hands in some sort of daze. This completely empty but entirely confused look. The kick to the gut of another loss. And even though Jay knew he wasn't the one at fault, it really felt like he'd been the one to deliver it. Because he'd wanted to be the one to give this kid the news. To be the one to break him again because he thought he might be able to figure out how to soften the blow somehow. He hadn't figured out how to do that. But he still felt like it should be him – since Mouse couldn't or wouldn't – take responsibility for passing along this information. For sharing this decision with a kid who he'd let get attached to him.

It was all just this fucking stark reminder about the responsibility you had after you got involved. It didn't fucking matter if you hadn't had full control in getting involved. If you'd been drawn in somehow. If you only thought you played some peripherally role. That the kid had other people – his core unit. Thing was you didn't know what role you played in that kid's life. You didn't get to decide. It was that kid who knew who you were to them. What you meant to them. Just what role you played in their life. That wasn't your choice. As much as sometimes getting involved wasn't always your choice. Sometimes it was just a fucking default. It just happened. But after it happened –- you had to man up. You had to be there. You had to be that person that the kid saw you as. Be as fucking good as that kid wanted you to be. Needed you to be.

Showed Jay again that whatever happened to him and Erin – if something ever did – he didn't get to just check out on Eth. Mouse maybe thought he did. That he wasn't an important enough player in Eth's life for it to really matter. But it mattered. It really fucking mattered. Jay could've told Greg that before. He had. Or at least he'd tried. But the guy – his friend – had already made up his mind. He wasn't about to take other things – other people – into consideration. If he couldn't take Jay or Erica or his sister and nephews into consideration, he sure as fuck wasn't thinking about Eth's feelings in all of this. He wasn't thinking about the timing of all of this in this poor kid's life. Another fucking pseudo big brother pulling a disappearing act. Just falling out of his life.

Jay wouldn't do that to Eth. He couldn't. Him and Erin break up. Erin pushes him away. Or they have some giant fight and take a break. Or this crap with Voight hits some other boiling point where they weren't going to spend time around him anymore – he still needed to be there for this kid. He still needed to be a man about that. Be better. Be the bigger person. Look him in the eyes – no matter what they looked like or how broken he might be – and be honest with him. Be there for him the best way he could.

Supposed that was hard too. Supposed shit was coming out of Eth – now, lately – about just how much anxiety he had about the jobs they did. The ways they could or might die. That maybe their promises that they'd be there for him were shallow. That they weren't something they could really standby when they went and did the jobs they did. That they were just giving him lip service. And Jay didn't know how to respond to that. Didn't think Voight or Erin did either. Heard the lines they fed him about taking care of him by taking care of the city. About service and purpose and greater good. But all of that only counted so much when you were thirteen and the bodies around you kept piling up. Another strike on the tally. More people disappearing from your life.

Jay sort of wanted to give the kid a hug. The kid just looked that lost and that despondent. But he wasn't exactly a huggy person. And him and Eth hadn't really established a relationship where they hugged. Where there'd been much of any sort of physical affection. Not beyond ball cap taps and hair scruffs and headlocks. The occasional times that Eth would act all pissy about having to share the couch with him but then ultimately end up flopped against him or having his fucking ice block feet rammed under his legs. Same as his fucking sister. Fuck genetics. Genetics didn't count for shit.

But as much as he thought maybe it was time to sort of end the no-touching policy he'd adopted with this kid – and pretty much anyone in his life – he didn't think Eth much wanted to be touched in that moment. That he'd jerk away and treat him more like the villain in all of this.

"Magoo…," Voight finally called out at the kid. Because they'd been sitting there at the dining room table trying to let the kid absorb it for too long. But Eth was just looking near catatonic.

His dad's voice drew him out of his haze. The kid finally looking up at them and again. But Jay almost wished he hadn't. Because that was another thing about Eth. He was this near constant reminder of all those eyes he hadn't wanted to look into when he did leave the Rangers. When he came back stateside. When he had to see people who'd be left behind. Those who'd experienced loss. Those loved ones of people who hadn't gotten to come home when he had.

But just like he had a responsibility to Eth now – to be there for the kid – he had the responsibility to look in those eyes. To bear witness. To be reminded – over and over – to live the best life he could. To do right. To make the most of the opportunities he'd been given.

Maybe Eth was an opportunity too. He had to look into those eyes that had seen so much fucking hurt and trauma over and over again. But it meant he got to have this relationship with this little, growing person who was growing into the kind of adult – the kind of man – you had to hope most people could be. That most people would strive to be. Even though Jay also knew that wasn't the reality about most people. But with Eth it was. And maybe he could play a small role in helping get him there. Maybe playing that role would open up other opportunities for him. Maybe it helped him deal with his own shit. To face his own demons. To root out what baggage was worth still fucking carrying and what he just needed to set down. Move on. Maybe the kid reminded him too that sometimes he didn't need to be so serious. Maybe it was better to just be a kid – to tell Eth to just keep being that kid – sometimes. Because there was enough adulting and grown-up shit to deal with. Sometimes Star Wars and baseball and dinosaurs and Indiana Jones and Ghostbusters and Harry Potter was just better. It just made more fucking sense. And clinging to shit that made sense in the mess of all that didn't had to count for something too. At least your sanity. So maybe Eth was an opportunity to keep that too.

"I just … I don't understand …," Eth pressed out in this weak broken thought.

"OK …," Voight started.

The guy had been so calm and flat and matter-of-fact about all of this since Jay had dropped the bomb. And Jay guessed that was how Voight was. Right. Wrong. Off. On. He might live in grey areas but he sure operated black-and-white sometimes. Ditonic. Did it at work too. So much shit just was the way it was. That life wasn't fair. That you got into situations and you got out of situations. That you just dealt with it. And it was your responsibility to figure out how to deal with it. And, maybe that's what he was doing now. But something about it seemed cold. Though, Jay supposed that was Voight too. It wasn't like he was a teddy bear. It wasn't like he was going to sugar-coat this for Eth. He was just going to paint him the reality.

"Mouse is gonna—" Voight started like Eth really hadn't understood.

Like they were still in the middle of that math assignment that Jay was trying to help him with before this talk and the kid just kept saying that he didn't understand. But this wasn't a math assignment. It wasn't that Eth hadn't absorbed it. Though, sometimes you couldn't be so sure what and how Eth absorbed things. But Jay was pretty sure he'd heard and absorbed this. He just couldn't – or didn't want to – process it. He just didn't understand.

"NO," Eth pressed out at his dad with an edge of anger – interrupting him. And Voight gave him an unimpressed smack at that, tightening his hands on the table and moving just so slightly. That commandeering move he made in the interrogation room too. Before he laid out the evidence on the table. "I don't understand. I thought he got kicked out of the army."

Voight gave another little smack and looked to Jay at that. He fidgeted for a moment and then propped himself slightly against the table to catch Eth's eyes again. The kid slowly moved them to him. There wasn't just confusion there. There was clear anger.

"He got a medical discharge," Jay started but was interrupted.

"Because he has brain damage!" Eth argued. "Like me!"

Jay let out a breath and allowed a small nod. "Yea," he managed. "Greg got a bit of brain trauma but there were –"

"You can't be in the army with brain damage!" Ethan argued more firmly.

Voight smacked again at that and eyed Jay a bit more. He let out another breath and straightened, starring into the kid's angry eyes.

"The kind of injury he got was different than yours Eth," he tried. "And there were some other things going on with his discharge."

"Like what?" Ethan demanded.

Jay scrubbed at his face and found the kid's eyes again. "That's not important. To us. What's important – to Mouse – is that he found someone in the army who was willing to help him with the paperwork around that and to get it signed off on so he could enlist again."

"But he already had a job!" Ethan pressed, his eyes darting to his dad. "Did you fire him?!" he accused.

Voight's tongue pulled out of his cheek at that and he gave his kid a warning look but shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "Mouse was good at his job. Did good work for our crew."

"And it's a good job!" Ethan argued, a near panic trembling in his voice. "A real job! Even though he was hurt! He got to work with the police department! Not at McDonald's! Or picking up garbage! Or stuff! He got to work in Intelligence! It's a specialized unit! You say so! Why would you quit that?!"

And Jay could understand where Eth was coming from. Maybe not understand it. He hadn't experienced it. But he'd been around Eth enough to understand why it was upsetting the kid.

Because Ethan had been born into a cop family. That he had a father who was a cop and a sister who was a cop. Stories about a grandfather who was a cop. And he was surrounded by 'aunts' and 'uncles' who were cops. He'd been in-and-out of Dad's work enough growing up that it was his second-home and second nature. That he'd had the police toys growing up. That there were pictures of him dressed up in the CPD blues for Halloween as a little boy. That Jay had been told when he was little Eth had spouted wanting to be a paleontological detective fisherman. Whatever the fuck that was. Apparently they'd advised the then pre-schooler that working in forensics or in the marine unit might be a better combination of those desires.

It was a pretty fucking funny story. Only not. Because it showed the kid had grown up with the belief, like Mouse had that he was born to be a soldier, Eth thought he'd been born to be a cop.

Still, Erin told the little ditty well and it always got Voight to make that sad grunt and get that far-away look on his face where you knew he was either thinking about his wife (who might've told the story better or come up with the reasonable career aspirations for the kid) or he was thinking about the little boy that existed before his brains got scrambled. The one that might've been able to be a paleontological detective fisherman – but would more likely fit right in on CPD's Forensic Unit or Marine Unit. And he would've continued that generational legacy that mattered to them.

And Eth – even as still a kid – knew that mattered to the Voights. It mattered to his dad and it mattered to his sister. And they were the two people he placed on the highest pedestals. The ones he wanted to be the most like. They were what he aspired to. And he'd spent a good long time thinking that he probably wouldn't be much of anything. Mouse had changed that for him. Mouse gave the kid fucking hope – the belief – that he could still be apart of CPD. That he could still amount to something. And when you had started to frame your reality around that – Jay got that meant that Mouse's decision didn't make much sense. That it hurt.

Jay didn't operate in the same realities as Eth, and Greg's decision still didn't make much sense to him. It still hurt.

But he couldn't explain Mouse's logic to a thirteen-year-old. He couldn't explain to him that the city was loud and confusing. That Chicago politics and American psyche and all the disparities in their country and all the things happening around them in the news – racial tensions and cop killers and cop bias and racial profiling and religious beliefs and greed and poverty and skewed morals and gun control and drugs cartels and big pharma and desensitization and glass ceilings and social media and body cams and no one feeling safe and no one trusting cops and cops being the bad guys when you thought you were the good guys and society turning the clock back on all this supposed progress they'd made now that they were in the 21st century – just didn't make any sense. That it made it hard to exist in. To understand anything. To live with. To know what you had fought for and what you hadn't. And why you'd gone through what you had and why you'd done what you'd done. That sometimes civilian life didn't make any sense and it was hard to cope with that. And that was confusing and unfair too.

That sometimes the regimented life of the military just seemed to make more sense. Even though it didn't. Even though it was just as loud and grey and scary as being here. As trying to continue to exist day-to-day when you weren't in theater. But over there maybe you had more purpose or a different purpose. Or maybe it was just that you were told how to think and how to act. And if you could live with that – cope with that, compartmentalize that – maybe it was better. Maybe it was easier. Maybe it would be the quiet and the black-and-white existence that Mouse wanted. But Jay wasn't sure he believed that. Because that wasn't the way it'd been before. He didn't believe it was the way it would be now.

But it wasn't his choice. He had to keep telling himself that. That it wasn't his choice. That was right for him, wasn't necessarily right for Mouse. That Mouse was his own man. That maybe Mouse really was born to be a soldier. But Jay wasn't really sure anyone was born to be a soldier. Not the way Mouse was framing it. And Jay was pretty fucking certain that enlisting to escape something didn't solve anything. It didn't make coping with reality – back home or in life – any easier. He'd lived that. He thought Mouse had too. But sometimes everyone experienced some selective memory. So he was just going to have to hope that this time would be different for Greg. That this was the best choice – the right choice – for him now. And that he'd get the outcome he wanted. And that that outcome was positive.

But Eth didn't want – or need – to hear any of that. Because none of it made a lot of sense either.

"Greg wasn't too happy doing the job anymore," Voight put to his son.

"Why?" Ethan demanded.

"He wanted to get out in the field more," Jay provided.

Eth's eyes shot to him and then back to Voight. "So why didn't you send him out on case more?"

Voight's eyes settled with some warning again. "Greg was a civilian employee," he said firmly. "He wanted to get out more, have to go through the proper channels. Take the police exam, medical, academy. Start out putting time in with his boots on the ground in the blue."

"So why isn't he just doing that?" Eth pressed his fist into the table.

Jay spread his fingers on the table. "You know, Mouse is thirty now and starting at the bottom when—"

Voight interrupted him. "Greg wouldn't likely have passed the medical exam, Magoo," he put flatly. "And he'd had some hiccups with the law before too. That would've popped up when they were considering his application."

"So? He found someone in the army to help with his paperwork. Couldn't you help him? You helped Erin! You helped Justin when he got out of jail!"

"Ethan," Voight put firmly, resting his elbows on the table to really catch his kid's eyes again. "Erin and Justin are my children. Helping them out that way is different. And, Mouse didn't ask for my help getting into the Academy. Because that wasn't what he wanted. By the time he talked to me, he'd already made up his mind about what he wanted."

"BUT HE COULD DIE!" Eth yelled and hit the table.

Voight gave his head a little shake. "There's no could about dying, E," he said. "Talked about this. We all die. Question is when."

"HE COULD DIE NOW!" Eth burst back at his dad, his face growing redder.

Voight allowed a little nod. "Maybe. But all of us face a whole lot of maybes every day. We've talked about all this too."

"Greg's going to have a higher rank and sounds like he's going to be in a really specialized unit that will be working a pretty specific kind of missions," Jay tried. "So he's not going to be quite as consistently on the frontlines and under fire as we were back when we were on the ground in Afghanistan."

"But it's war …," Eth said quietly, going back to gazing the table.

"It is …," Jay agreed. "But, things are a little different now than they were when we were over there."

"THEY WON'T BE IF TRUMP GETS VOTED PRESIDENT AND STARTS WORLD WAR THREE! OR MAKES PEOPLE BOMB US OR SETS OFF THE NUKES OR WHATEVER CRAZY STUFF HE DOES! IT WILL BE WAY WORSE THAN 9/11 OR IRAQ OR AFGHANISTAN!" Eth sputtered out, getting more and more red-faced. His fists getting so tight on the table his knuckles were turning white.

"Well … let's hope the Angry Orange doesn't get the vote," Voight offered flatly. "And, if that's not how it works out, you don't need to be worrying about all these what-ifs. We are not entering the End Times."

"You don't know that," Eth spat.

Voight gave him firm eyes. "I know whatever happens November Eighth, the sun's going to come up in the morning."

"Unless we can't see the sun because of all the nuclear fall out!" Ethan argued back and Jay sat back in his chair, casting Voight a look.

"Ethan," Voight put to him calmly but his frustration and annoyance was clearly rising. And Jay knew why – because this was one of those irrational Ethan conversations that you ended up having to have over and over again. And one that made just about as little sense as any of the back-and-forths he'd had with Mouse over the previous weeks about him enlisting again. "No one's going to bomb us on election night. In fact, if this country is stupid enough to elect that asshole, I'm pretty sure the rest of the world can just sit back and watch us self destruct all on our own."

"They give him the nuclear codes," Eth put to his dad accusingly.

Voight let out a slow breath, making his frustration more apparent. "Then you've just got to know that political decisions and military decisions are pretty complicated. And there's a whole lot of safe guards and checks and balances at a lot of levels to make sure a bit of common sense prevails."

"Evan says none of us are going to be safe anymore," Ethan spat out angrily. "That the whole world won't be safe if he's president. And black people and Muslim people and gay people and girls and even people like us with physical disabilities and learning disabilities aren't going to be safe here anymore! Him and all his supporters and people who vote for him don't like us and want us dead or behind walls or not living here!"

"Ethan," Voight put more sternly. "We've talked about this. You've talked to your therapist about this. You don't need to go getting yourself worked up about things that haven't happened yet. You are catastrophizing. And that's just going to send your anxiety sky-rocketing over things outside of your control. You are going to make yourself sick if you keep getting worked up like this."

"Mouse is going to get killed and Donald Trump is going to kill him," Eth put defiantly and more than a little melodramatically.

"Eth, you've got to remember," Jay tried, "that in the army, especially something like the Rangers, you get really tight with the people around you. You watch each other's backs and take care of each other as best you can. He'll have people looking out for him."

"You say that about Intelligence too," Eth cast him an accusing look. "You say it. Erin says it. Dad says it. So why aren't you looking out for him now? Because he's just a 'civilian' and not a cop?!"

Jay arched his eyebrow at the kid with his own warning at the tone of his voice. "We all care about Mouse. We have all talked to him about this decision. But he is a grown man," he pressed back at the kid. "He is capable of making his own decisions. And as his friends, part of that is respecting his decisions."

"And would you tell him to go ahead if he was holding a gun to his head too?" Eth spat at him even harder.

"Ethan—" Voight warned more firmly.

"Well, it's what he's doing. He's going on a fucking suicide mission!" Ethan yelled.

"Watch your language," Voight rasped.

Eth looked down, gazing at those clenched fists of his.

"Lots of jobs have some danger attached to them," Voight added.

"Yea," Eth muttered. "So maybe all of you are stupid for doing those jobs. And maybe he's the stupidest of you all."

"That's not a very nice thing to say about your friend," Voight put flatly.

Ethan's eyes came up to glare at him. "He's not my friend. A friend wouldn't sign up to go get killed. And if he did, he'd at least tell me himself."

Jay spread his fingers on the table. "Things are just moving really fast," he lied on Mouse's behalf, though he could feel Voight's eyes on him at that. "He had a lot on his plate to get through. And I don't think he knew how to tell you."

In actuality, Jay was more than a little pissed off that Mouse hadn't told Ethan himself. That he hadn't told the rest of the kids in Robotics or officially informed the school. That he was just going to let the news trickle to them via Eth or Erica as it got closer to the team's season in the new year.

To him the fact he was skirting around telling people – talking about it – spoke volumes about what he actually felt about his decision. Or maybe how much he didn't want to hear what other people thought about it. Or maybe he just didn't want to be reminded about what a valuable and contributing member of so many communities he'd become state side. Maybe acknowledging that wouldn't make his escape as easily. It wouldn't make the work he was going to do overseas seem so important. Because there was sure a hell of a lot of work that needed to be done stateside too. A hell of a lot in Chicago. And Mouse was right on the frontlines of making real change with getting to kids while they were still kids over at Iggy's and in Robotics. And he was going it even more by helping them get the real bad guys in Intelligence. But apparently he'd deluded himself into thinking none of that counted when he wasn't in theater. When he didn't have a gun or a rank. When he was crawling around in the dirt with bullets flying over him.

Thing was with the way the world – or at least their country - might be looking a few weeks down the road, maybe the work he was walking away from was even more fucking important. More important than ever.

"Didn't Ms. Nowak tell him he wasn't allowed to go?" Eth finally asked quietly.

"Not much of a relationship if you aren't able to respect and support each other's decisions," Voight said.

Eth cast his eyes at him and then moved them to Jay. "Did they break up?"

Jay shook his head. "No," he allowed. "She's supporting him in his decision."

"So they're going to break up," Eth muttered.

Jay shrugged. "Not necessarily. Lots of people in the military have relationships."

Eth looked at him with this disbelieving stare. And Jay supposed the kid had a right to be skeptical. He didn't exactly believe himself that their relationship was going to survive this. He wouldn't be surprised if they broke up before he deployed. Jay actually got the sense that the seriousness of the relationship – the interest Erica was showing in him and establishing a life with him – was yet another thing that Mouse was running away from. Because it was loud and noisy and confusing and he couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He didn't quite feel that he deserved it.

That he felt that all he deserved was those boots, that uniform, that flag on his shoulder and gun in his hands. And all those things held a place in your life when you'd been a soldier. They became a part of you identity. They had to. You internalized them. Adopted them. Lived and died by them. But they also weren't you. They were just the things you carried. And for the privilege of carrying those things for that short period in your life – it meant you had to carry so much more for the rest of your years on Earth. Things that you never got to put down. Things that stayed with you. And it meant those around you ended up carrying them too. Because they sometimes had to carry you. No matter how much you didn't want them to. And maybe he didn't want to do that to Erica. Maybe he felt that Erica wasn't ready for that. Or he didn't quite want her to see him that way or that side of him. So he was leaving all that behind too.

"And he's just quitting Robotics too?" Ethan accused, casting Voight a look.

"Can't really be doing that while he's in the service," his dad provided.

Ethan shrugged. "Then I'm not doing Robotics either."

Voight smacked and sat back in his chair. "Your decision," he said. "But don't think that's one you need to be making right now. And don't think that's a decision you should be making based on some decision another person made."

"I can't do it without Mouse!" Eth argued.

Voight caught his eyes. "Ethan, you're smart and you're capable. You don't need Mouse there holding your hand to excel in Robotics. Proved that to everyone last year."

Ethan glared and then slumped back into his chair, wrapping his arms around himself in quiet contemplation.

"I guess now I can't do rock climbing either …," he whispered.

Jay rocked forward on his elbows again, trading a glance with Voight, as he slouched to catch Eth's eyes.

"Eth," he called at him and stared at the kid until he cast him a sideways glance. "Your dad talked to me about the rock climbing program you want to do. I can do it with you, if you want."

The kid stared at him, trying to process, but finally managed. "No, you can't. I have to go with someone in the military sports program."

Jay cocked his eyebrow at him. "How do I know Mouse?" he put to the kid.

Eth considered him again. "From the Rangers …"

"Yea …," Jay said. "So … I'm a vet too. Right?"

Eth huffed at him and slouched back into the chair. "That doesn't matter. You have to be a member of the rehab center. It's for vets who got hurt."

Jay gave a little nod and adjusted his chair – pulling it so he was closer to the kid and putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Yea …," he agreed again, as the kid gazed at him in a way that again took him a moment to collect himself.

Because Voight approaching him with this – broaching this with him had been hard. Not that he'd said anything directly. They'd talked around it. It'd been a presentation of the program and the requirements of the adult participant. But the unstated acknowledgment – and an acknowledgment that Voight knew or at least suspected – was there.

So Jay had tried to shut down. He'd shook his head. Because this was something he'd tried to deny and ignore so many times with so many people. Because this wasn't something that he talked about. It wasn't something that he talked about when he came back and after his mom died and he tried to readjust to civilian life and find his meaning and his place and his purpose. As he struggled with what being back meant and what being over there had meant. What he'd done and what he'd seen and what other's had done and things that had happened. Talking about any of this wasn't part of his coping. Ignoring it was still part of his escape. His own running away.

It was a topic of discussion that he even tried to sweep under the rug with Erin. And it was something they more talked around than about. It was private. And it wasn't something he knew how to look Voight in the eye and acknowledge. It wasn't something he knew how to talk about with Eth. It wasn't something he wanted either of them to know. It wasn't something he wanted to get into. Not with them.

But after Voight had given the spiel and handed him the form. And just left it at, 'Think about it. Magoo would really like to do it. Think it'd be good for him'."

Jay had thought about it. And talked to Erin about it – in some anger and some frustration and some annoyance. And then he'd thought about it some. And he'd realized that he couldn't preach at Mouse about responsibilities to those around him. He couldn't talk to Erin about making decisions about Eth and taking Voight out of the equation. He couldn't vent about Will or Olive or Mouse and their escapism. He couldn't do any of that if he wasn't willing to follow his own advice. His own fucking morals and convictions. He couldn't be that hypocrite. He couldn't expect any of them to be the people he wanted if he wouldn't fucking be that man too. On his own.

So he'd manned up. He was going to practice what he preached. Because this wasn't about him. Not just about him.

E stared at him, though. Stared at that scar on his neck. The one that he kid had once asked about but that Jay talked around too. Told him he'd gotten hurt while in the Rangers but left it at that. Because that was his own private business too. His own mark. His own burden to carry. About the would've, could've, and should've that maybe would've, could've and should've happened that day.

"That doesn't count," the kid put bluntly.

Jay nodded, keeping his eyes. "I know," he agreed. "But you know that sometimes when some pretty bad things – hard things, traumatic things –happen, it's not always a physical hurt. Right?"

Eth gazed at him. "Yea …"

Jay gave him a little nod and a thin smile – trying to ignore the fact that Voight was sitting right there. "So, I'm been really impressed with how brave you've been lately, Eth. With everything. And, I thought, if you can be that brave about facing some of this stuff head on – talking about it – I can too. For you. And for Erin. And for me. Because, sometimes talking about this stuff, I think it helps. In some ways. And I think doing that – checking in every once and a while, talking – it might help me be a better friend and a better husband and hopefully a better cop too."

Eth squinted. "OK …"

Jay nodded again, giving the kid's shoulder a tighter squeeze. "So, I went and I talked to a doc at the VA a bit and I got them to sign the paperwork for me so I can take part in the Rehab Center's military programs. So … I'm going to check in with a doc every once and while and … talk. And me and you, we can go learn how to rock climb together. If you want."

It sure felt like he was rock climbing right now. Hanging off a cliff. And he kind of thought that he might feel like that pretty much every session he had to go in to and attempt to verbalize that he'd suffered trauma, and attempted to try to accept that PTSD was real, and tried to reconcile any stigma associated with it, and tried to live with what he'd seen and what he'd done and all that had happened to him. In the Rangers and in Afghanistan and at home in Chicago as a kid from a broken home who didn't know who or where to get help from when bad things happened.

But he'd figure it out. He'd take that responsibility. He'd be that man. That husband. That cop. That big brother-in-law. For Ethan. For Erin. For himself. For all the people he had responsibility to now and in the past and deserved the best out of him. And the best he could be, needed him to face this and cope with this. To not keep running away and burying it.

So now he just needed Ethan – this little kid – to not leave him hanging on that cliff with this admission. This offer. This attempt to grapple up to solid ground for all of them.

"I liked like that …" Eth finally said.

Jay gave him a thin smile and squeezed his shoulder again, giving his back a little pat, as he straightened and caught Voight's eyes. It didn't matter what he saw there. All that matter right then what that he'd heard all that he needed to hear out of that one kid.

They'd figure out how to get the rest of the way up the cliff later. Together. Because that's the kind of man he wanted to be.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: A chapter was added in less than 24 hour period yesterday. Please check the chapter posted immediately before this (Launching Point) to make sure you didn't miss it. You may also want to check the one before that (The Best Things) since it was posted on the same day.**

 **Your reviews and feedback are more appreciated.**


	29. In the Blue

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 27 (Grappling). It will be reordered later.**

Platt looked up from working on a crossword at the sergeant's desk. There was a whole lot of chatter coming up the steps of her District. Kid voices. Shrill, prepubescent kid voices. Hadn't heard any of her patrol officers call in indicating that they'd had to pick up some juveniles. She'd reserve whether she'd define them as delinquinents until she saw and heard what all this was about.

A quick glance at her watch confirmed it wasn't too long after school had let out for the day at a lot of the schools in their patrol region. It was witching hour for the kids to do stupid kid stuff. The level of stupid never ceased to amaze her no matter how long she did the job. She sort of wished it would. But somehow kids just decided to make the same mistakes over and over again year after year. The only difference was that a lot of them seemed to find bigger and more spectacular ways of being idiots.

Thing was, though, if the kids were just being idiots, whatever concerned citizen that had decided to call their antics in must've been putting up a real fuss. Because for a lot of the stupidity the latch-key kids managed in that after-school period usually didn't warrant them being brought in. Most of the time, a patrol officer standing in front of them and putting on some tone and some firmly placed reality checks was enough to put the fear of God into them. The real problem would be if it wasn't just an adult asshole making mountains out of molehills and they'd actually had to deal with a more serious situation, which wasn't as uncommon as she'd like in their District either. Gangs, drugs and guns were just a reality of living in Chicago and being a cop in the city. And sometimes it felt like the kids they were pulling in connected to all of that were just getting younger and younger. Or she was getting older.

She was going to have to hope that it was the former – idiot adults – and not some someone laying dead in the street or worse. Would expect that she would've heard delinquents – juveniles – were being brought it, if it was the latter.

Still, whatever was approaching up the steps, she put on her best scowl in preparations. Make sure to get the point across about what they'd stepped into sooner rather than later. After you crossed that threshold – entered her District – a certain level of behavior was expected, whatever your reason for being there.

But was the commotion got to the top of the stairs, she allowed that scowl to soften. Almost allowed a thin smile to creep into her frown lines.

The source of the loudest chatter became apartment as a girl got up to the door. She still stood there, looking down the steps and talking away – rather bossily – until little Ethan Voight managed to get his crutches and feet on solider ground again, a taller boy appearing a step behind him.

Seeing Ethan was always a bit of a bright spot for her. She held that kid in a special place in her heart. She supposed she did all of Hank's children. That happened when you'd known someone that long and you'd watched their kids grow right up before your eyes. Nothing like that to make you realize how much time had gotten by you. Especially when one of them was now dead and gone – having left Hank a grandfather, another was now working at the District as a grown woman having managed to make detective (no question about that promotion being due to some strings being pulled by her father), and the youngest of the lot now a teenager.

She missed seeing little Ethan. He was just really such a nice, nice kid. Broke your heart in a million pieces all that little boy had been through. Only reall consolation was knowing that he was lucky that he had a good support network and people who cared about him – who were looking out for him and fighting for him. Not all kids got that kind of support – especially the kids who often needed it the most. The ones that went through the kind of trauma and losses that Ethan had been stuck living through. Even with all of that, though, the boy still managed to be a kid. Still managed to just be this kind and caring boy. Had a real good head on his shoulders. But knew it'd likely be an uphill battle for Hank and Erin to make sure that head stayed on straight and he kept going in the right direction. Kids could slip up bad and fall hard. Slip up worse and fall harder when the adults around them were doing the same.

Hank really hadn't had Ethan at the District at all since he'd lost Justin. The visits had really just gotten fewer and fewer since the whole Beckett incident and then Yeats. When you started getting the psychopaths coming at your family – when they'd already managed to take one of them from you – you started doing your best to keep your liabilities out of sight. She was learning how to manage that herself with Randall – and he was a grown man. But the whole dynamic certainly did change a whole lot when you had people to care about and look after and fight for beyond yourself and the citizens in your city. She was coming to appreciate that – and learn how to navigate it – a whole lot later in life than she likely should've. But sometimes it took you a while to find the right train to catch. Missed the boarding time on a few occasions. Supposed she was still finding her seat now that she was on the moving vehicle but at least she was headed in the right direction.

Didn't blame Hank much for keeping Ethan out of sight and out of the District. Really since Crowley took up the white shirt and planted her ass in the office across the lobby, there hadn't been anyone letting their kids show up too much. Didn't want to get the lecture or the write-up. Didn't wanted to be reminded how much she didn't get it. Was too bad really. It was nice to see the little people grow up more than just in photos on people's phones when they managed any sort of chit-chat or fence yanking rather than doing real work. Hadn't seen hide nor hair of Antonio's two for eons. Lexi was out of the picture now when she'd been stopping in to see her dad since she was in pink overalls and pigtails. Al hadn't even had Michelle check in upstairs for months and months. With the ass-reaming Crowley was giving him that week, though, it was likely best.

Last time she'd seen Ethan, though, had been when she was in the hospital. The little boy stopping by to cheer her up because she'd dropped in to check in and pay her respects so many times while Hank had had his son in and out of the hospital over the years. Touched her a bit. But she had a soft spot for Ethan. Supposed she did for Hank too, in a way. Wished she could see his youngest a bit more than she got to anymore. But they weren't much of Sunday dinner kind of colleagues. So she'd just have to enjoy his unannounced appearance now.

Ethan gave her a thin smile. The kid only looked so happy anymore. But he had so much on his plate. Still a lot of open wounds that were just raw. It'd be a good long time before he felt too happy, she suspected. But she thought that was part of the reason she wouldn't mind seeing him a bit more too. Not that she was a ray of sunshine – or anyone else at the District that he interacted with was – but sometimes even being around Chief Thunderclouds were better than just brooding. She was just as sure that Hank did enough brooding for all of them and then some.

He clattered over to the desk, his little friends following along.

"Do you know the three of you just about sounded like an entire schoolyard gang was being dragged in here," she put to him, slumping her elbows onto the desk to get down to his level.

Poor kid still wasn't doing much in the way of growth spurts. Not that his father was a tall man. But his brother sure was and his mother had had some height to her too. But for now, Hank's mini teenager was still just that – mini. Still looked more like a little boy than a kid charging toward high school. And he still had his elbows almost up at ear level when he settled his arms up on her desk, his crutches dangling off them.

"His dad said we could come," the girl told her, resting her own arms up on the desk. She wasn't that much taller than Ethan yet.

"Mmm," she allowed, keeping her eyes on Ethan, and nodding her head in the other two kids. "Sure you want to be vouching for these two?"

Ethan gave her a little sigh. "It's just my friends," he said.

"Do they have names?" Platt put to him pointedly.

"Eva," the girl interjected, leaning more against the ledge of the desk. "And we've met. At his birthday party. You're the lady cop married to the firefighter who couldn't swing and couldn't run."

"Mmm," Platt allowed again, thinking about it for a moment. "That does sound about right. He does to other things well," she nodded at the girl. The girl scrunched her face like she'd implied something disgusting. Reading between the lines a little too much. "Like climb ladders," she added with a touch of warning, even though her reaction amused her a bit. Likely no more than thirteen either and mind right in the gutter. Between the way she was bossing the boys around on the stairs and that reaction, she thought maybe she liked this girl. Her eyes shifted to the other boy who fidgeted a little nervously without having stepped up to the desk. Didn't much look like he wanted to be there and like he felt like some sort of criminal for just being there. Made her wonder what had him feeling that way. "Who's he?" she asked.

"Evan," Eva put directly again, giving the boy a glance.

Ah. The Triple E. Had heard Hank refer to that little group a few times usually within some sort of grumbled explanation while he was already on the move about playing taxi service. Had heard enough of the mutterings to know they were kids from Ethan's baseball league. Would be kids from his rehab program. Not that she'd had to look at the kids too closely to have already pieced together that. The girl had a bit of a limp and the boy rather clearly had scarring on his face. He kept gripping at his arm and fidgeting with his one hand in a way that it was only drawing attention to the fact his clenched fist was missing fingers.

Beyond the noticeable signs in these kids, Erin usually managed to form sentences a lot better than Hank and she'd definitely tried to check in a few times since they'd all lost Justin. Knew better than to poke her nose into how Hank was doing with all of it, but had asked how Ethan was doing. Pretty much sounded like he was both coping and completely not coping when you read between the lines of what Erin said and didn't say. And maybe the fact that she seemed more willing to say that Ethan still was struggling with school and making any sort of friends there – but he seemed to be managing to find a bit of a group at the Rehab Institute's programming. Clearly this was that group. Triple E. Tacitly appropriate.

"Does he talk?" she put to Evan.

But it was Ethan who answered on his behalf. "Yea," he said, adding, "and Dad did tell us to come here after school. He's taking us to get duct tape and paint to work on our Halloween costumes."

She leaned a countertop, raising her eyebrow at him. "I love Halloween—"

"I know," Ethan interrupted with some enthusiasm and swung an arm over in Evan's direction. "And he lives in Lincoln Park too. Pretty close to you—"

She took her turn to interrupt him. "So you buddy lives close to me and you're telling me you still never stop by?"

Ethan just huffed at her and rolled his eyes. "And I told him that you have all kinds of Halloween decorations—"

"Halloween? You should see the place at Christmas," she interrupted again, giving him a look and casting the Evan kid another look. He still looked like he thought he was going to be thrown into lock-up.

Ethan leaned around his little girlfriend. "Her street has a contest."

"And who always wins?" she raised her eyebrow at Ethan.

He sighed again. "But I told him that your house has good decorations and you give out good candy. Like full chocolate bars," Ethan stressed again at Evan.

Platt shrugged. "Maybe," she acknowledged. "But maybe it's only the good costumes that get the good candy – especially when I find out one of my favorite trick-or-treaters is basically right next door and now coming to say hi."

He sighed at her even harder. "It's not right next door," he protested weakly.

"Mmm," she acknowledged. He'd dug himself that hole.

But truth was, she'd be pretty thrilled if he did swing by one day for a visit. Though, Randall didn't do so well with the kiddos. Got so nervous and awkward. It was worse with Ethan, it was like he thought a single misstep and it'd be him that Hank would be taking out to the Silos never to be seen again. So, she'd take a Halloween visit instead. She'd sort of assumed that Ethan was getting a little old for that. But she'd be happy to set aside some of this alleged good candy for him and his little friends – likely something extra special purchase since she knew Hank had been all OCD about what the poor kid was allowed to eat. It sure likely wasn't a Mars bar or Reese that was on the list anymore. Besides, her and Randy were getting the haunted mansion really done up that year with an extra set of hands to put up all the lights and decorations. She'd be happy to get to show it off a bit more to more than just the neighborhood kiddies.

"So what are you being?" she put to him directly, scanning the other kids deliberately. Already suspected it was going to be a threesome. Did a bit of a mental inventory of the possibilities. "Better be good if you want the good candy."

"We're going to the RIC party," Eva provided on their behalf. "Not trick-or-treating," she said, casting Ethan a look. "We're way too old for that."

Ethan gazed at the girl with some defeat. "She gives good candy and her house is really cool," he said. He leaned around the girl. "See. If your mom does car pool, we can go to Trudy and Fireman Mouch's house first."

"Why's my mom going to drive when neither of you live on the North Side?" Evan muttered.

"Because she never takes a turn," Ethan said accusingly.

"She doesn't need to take a turn," Evan muttered. "I live closest to RIC. It's easy for me to get to it."

Ethan made an unimpressed sound that didn't sound that unlike his dad's groaning about playing taxi. Had likely picked up on the grumbling. Thankfully Ethan wasn't quite as grumbly as his dad yet but there was still lots of time for him to grow into that – and that was more like than not.

"I think we should go as the Cubs," Ethan put to Platt with a forcefulness that indicated he was still trying to win some battle of the wills. It didn't take much guessing to know who that battle was with.

"That's not a costume," the girl protested. "We are the Cubs. We'd just wear our uniforms."

"Yea," Ethan pressed at her. "So it's easy. And they're going to win the World Series."

The girl let out an annoyed huff and gave him the biggest stink eye along with the hand and the head shake. "You have got to stop saying that!" she lectured. "You're going to jinx them."

"Everyone is saying it," he grumbled at her. But it just made Platt hide a thin smile. Bickering like a little couple. Cute. Be cuter if she didn't have to listen to it.

"They lost their first game, Ethan!" Eva sassed at him.

"So?! They have six more to make up for it," he said.

"Or three more to lose and they're out," Eva added with a firm nod.

"You're the one who's going to jinx them," Ethan said. "We should show our support and go as Cubs to the party."

"Ethan, they might be knocked out of the series by then," she sighed.

"Or maybe they'll have just won them!" he argued right back. "For the first time in forever!"

"And then everyone will be dressed as the Cubs and our costumes will be lame," Eva said oh so matter-of-factly and looked right at Platt. "I wanted to go as Harry Potter characters but he said no to that too. Because he says no to everything."

"That's not true," Ethan glared at her. "I just don't want to be stupid Harry Potter."

Eva gestured dismissively at his poor scarred up face. "You pretty much are Harry Potter."

Ethan's glare got harsher and he pointed over at Evan. "He has scars too."

Eva shook her head. "But he's definitely a Ron."

"I am not," Evan said so quietly under his breathe again.

"And I am clearly Hermione," Eva said dramatically, swishing her nappy curls behind her shoulder and looking directly at Platt. "J.K. Rowling has basically even said so. That the movie cast Hermione wrong and the new play has done it right. She's not no white girl."

Ethan let out his own dramatic sigh – like he'd heard this little conversation line many times already before and was very sick of it – and shook his head in faux annoyance. Platt wasn't entirely buying it. She could tell already that the little boy enjoyed the little run for his money that this girl gave him. And knowing Voight males, he likely needed a little girl like that. Good to get some brushes with it nice and early.

"And I'm clearly the smartest of all of you," Eva said.

"You mean the bossiest, big-mouth," Ethan muttered at her and she gave him a little whack. But it only earned a shy grin out of Ethan.

Eva's eyes went back to Platt. "Did he tell you that he gets to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in the summer?"

"I may have heard that," Platt allowed.

The truth was that Ethan had sat and read Harry Potter out-loud to her during his visits in the hospital. It was some sort of torture listening to him try to put together the words and the sentences. Each visit was about the slowest few pages she'd ever had to endure. She hadn't known it could take a 30-minute visit to get through all of two pages of reading. Though she was sure there was the best intentions in the reading efforts and the visits, it'd also sure added to the motivation to get her old, sick ass strong enough to get the hell out of that hospital ward and away from those read-to-me sessions. It'd sure taken everything in her not to grab the book away from him and read it to him instead – no matter how weak and tired she'd felt in that particular moment. But she'd been informed that part of the deal he'd brokered with his older sister was that he had to read the books himself. Sure sounded like that was going to be a drawn out process.

"Well, I don't even really like Harry Potter—"

"You don't like Harry Potter and I'll go for you," Eva interjected.

"I have to read all the books to get to go," Ethan glared at her like this had been explained multiple times.

"So, read the books," Eva put to him.

"Reading is hard for me," Ethan protested.

"It's not that hard," Eva muttered, just as clearly having heard that line already and not buying it.

"Don't make fun of disabilities," Ethan squinted at her.

But the girl looked him right in the eye. "Lazy ain't a disability, Ethan," she put directly. "Lazy is lazy and there ain't no cure for it – beyond doing the work."

The kid's nostrils flared a bit at that and he looked away. She'd clearly struck a bit of a nerve. But that likely only meant there was some element of truth to her statement that Ethan hadn't much liked hearing. Sometimes, though, hearing those things were the only way to get things fixed. No sugar-coating it.

"One day I'm going to be a cop," Eva put to Platt directly. "Like not for Halloween. For a job."

"Oh …?" Platt allowed.

"Yea," Eva stressed. "And not like him," she said with a gesture at Evan. "He's afraid of Chicago cops and just Chicago everything."

"Do you read the news?" Evan muttered. "This is basically the murder capital of the United States."

"Yea," Eva stared at him. "And you don't know anyone who's been murdered but I do and I know that it's the cops that try to find the ones who did it even if they can't fix what happened or send everyone to jail. So I know enough to know that that's what I'm going to do too. Be a cop – and not just a civilian employee like he's going to be," she jutted a thumb at Ethan that time. "A real police officer."

"No she's not," Ethan grumbled. "If you work for the Blue, it will be a civilian too. Because there's no such thing as one-legged police officers."

"Sure there is," Eva argued sternly. "Just not in Chicago. But that's OK. I'll be the first."

"No you won't," Ethan pressed at her again. "Because you'll fail the medical stuff."

"My health is fine now," Eva told him firmly. "And they can't discriminate against me for only having one leg. I just have to pass all the other tests same as everyone else. And I will. Because I'm _not lazy_."

Ethan made an exceedingly annoyed sound.

"Ethan, I think you've found yourself a girl who can talk more than you," Platt put flatly, earning a glance from the boy.

"I don't talk that much," both him and Eva snarked back at the same time. There were the teenagers in the making right there.

"You aren't being the Cubs or Harry Potter. What are you being?" she asked. "The Stooges."

"The Ghostbusters," Evan finally spoke up a bit. Clearly he didn't want to be a Stooge. But with the way he was playing whiney and mute, she thought he might make the best Stooge of the bunch.

"So are you going to let us go upstairs?" Ethan asked directly. "Dad was supposed to get us boxes for our proton packs."

"Mmm," Platt allowed again, and reached for the phone, waiting until it got picked up in Intelligence. She got Erin and put flatly, "I've got Ron, Hermione and Harry down here. They say Lord Voldemort is expecting them." She nodded and hung up the phone, coming around her desk. "Just remember you aren't supposed to be using your magic among us mere Muggles."

She brushed passed the kids and headed for the stairs, gesturing for them to follow. At the rate these kids moved, Lindsay would have lots of time to flip anything they had up on the case board out of sight and let Voight know the kids had arrived. Hopefully he wasn't having a Voldemort kind of day. But she was pretty sure with all the coming and goings of Crowley and the fallen Cub hero they had in holding at the moment, there wasn't going to a lot of kid-friendly energy happening in that bullpen at the moment. There rarely was. And Hank sure wasn't much of an actor. Still, he must've felt he could pull up the gig well enough that he hadn't cancelled out of whatever it was that he had got roped into with the trio. Either that or he was going to be pawning it off on Lindsay, which sounded about right.

They must've had more than their share to get out of sight, though, because by the time she'd gotten the kids to the top of the stairs, Erin was just finishing turning the case board. Ethan had already spotted something else, though, and was clicking toward her desk, gazing at a vase of daisies there and then casting Halstead an accusing look.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"Hey," Erin told him warningly, putting her hand against that backward Cubs hat of his in a calming motion. The lot of them had likely seen more than enough of the Cubs for the day and week too – especially with the look on their faces and the way Olinsky was sulking in the corner. Been a rough one for him. "They aren't from him."

Eva had made her way over to the desk to examine them. There was clearly enough interest and comfort in her that she must've spent some time around Lindsay and Halstead before. Only made sense, though. They likely also served as taxi service for the kids. And cheerleaders at these ball games that she was starting to think probably plodded along at about the same speed as Ethan's reading.

The little girl cast Ethan a look. "He never gets me flowers either."

Ethan made a truly disgusted face, scrunching up that little nose of his. All freckles. Could really see his dad in him across those cheekbones and nose of his. Especially since she'd known Voight from before the job had entirely weathered him. He hadn't always been as grizzled looking. Age and policing did cruel things to your body in more ways than one. Suited the man cops better than the lady ones. Seemed to treat them a bit more fairly – just like so many other things on the job.

"Why would I get you flowers?" Ethan pressed at her with a clear 'ick' in his tone.

But Eva only made a little sound and gave him a shrug, glancing more at the arrangement proudly on display on Erin's desk. "The card's blank," she said, giving Erin a questioning look.

Erin nodded with her own shrug, reaching to take the card off its little post and giving Ethan a look. "I was starting to think they were from you and your dad."

Ethan made another face at that – clearly almost as disgusted at that idea as he was of ever giving flowers to Eva. Only a matter of time until that stance changed, Platt was sure. But Hank had caught wind of the commotion. Suspected that no where this gang went was done too quietly. He'd come out of his office and given his own head a shake.

"Not from us," he put flatly.

Erin squinted at him, shifting her questioning eyes to Halstead, who's brow also creased as he rocked back in his chair. Erin gazed at the card again.

"Thanks, Trudy," he put to her. Clear dismissal. Hank liked things the way he liked things. And one of the things he liked was lack of clutter. That meant he didn't want unnecessary people in a particular moment cluttering up his space either. Likely still had some loose ends to get through from the case and the arrest earlier that afternoon.

"Dad, are you ready yet?" Ethan demanded of him.

But Hank shook his head, as Trudy was turning to start back down to her station.

"Gonna need about twenty," he said. "Why don't you get set up in there for a bit?"

The kids' eyes drifted over to the break room.

"There's not even the boxes in there," Ethan whined at him. "You didn't forget about the boxes, did you? You said there'd be boxes here."

"Didn't forget about the boxes," Hank put flatly.

But Platt was pretty sure he'd at least not looked for these boxes. Wouldn't have been at top priority with the case at hand. If it had been something he'd thought of, he likely would've been best to let her know. She could've horded some filing boxes or empty printer paper boxes for him in the lead up. But now if he didn't have anything sitting empty in his own office – or could be emptied out in short order – he was likely going to have to go scrounging around. Or more likely ordering someone to empty out something shoved under their desk for him and find their own replacement.

Ethan sighed at him. "What are we even supposed to do in there until you're ready if you don't even have the boxes for us to start on?"

"Talk, have a glass of water," Hank put to him flatly.

"Water?" Ethan groaned.

"Know where the vending machines are."

Ethan sighed but gestured weakly and apologetically at his friends to follow. But Alvin seemed to stir out of his melancholy.

"I'll take them down and see about boxes," he put, rolling away from his desk. "Not supposed to be here anyway …"

Hank allowed a grunt and Olinsky gave the kids a secondary gesture. "Let's see what we can find down in the garage, Magoo."

The kids started their little parade after Alvin.

"Why do they all call you Magoo?" Eva whispered none too quietly.

"Just because," Ethan muttered.

"I looked it up on Urban Dictionary," Evan finally formed words. "It actually means all sorts of gross things."

"It's not gross. It's some cartoon character," Ethan huffed.

"A bald, blind one," Eva provided. "That's kind of mean too."

And Trudy just kept listening to their fading voices as she headed back down her own set of steps. Funny little group. It wouldn't be such a bad thing if they dropped in now and again. Sometimes on the job you needed to have the little things to look forward to. To see the hope for the future looking at you through the next generation's eyes. Kids like that were the ones that gave you some hope. Gave you something to smile about, at least a bit. At least it gave you reason to keep doing the job – because they sure deserved to have something standing for them and to stand for by the time they were coming up the lines. And one day they sure would be and all of Chicago would be better for it.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews and comments are appreciated. I've got two more planned chapters with the kids coming up soon-ish.**


	30. Checking In

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

"We'll go to the little boy and the big boy toy stores after, Jay," he vaguely registered hearing and pressed up from his slouched position over the cart a bit, staring blankly at her.

"What?" he asked with some confusing.

He really hadn't been listening. Or participating.

He didn't particularly want to be out at all that day. But given that it was a holiday weekend and the choice was sitting around the house alone or spending it with Erin, he'd opted to endure this.

But shopping on Black Friday wasn't his idea of a good time. Not that he really thought it was hers either. He got she was likely just looking for distraction. There was way too much going on in their lives. At work. A shit case at work before the holiday. A holiday where two cop families would be having a missing seat at home. And somehow working on a case like that, only served as reminders about all the things missing around them too. Only made it starker the people absent from your life. The absences you'd experienced in the past. The ones you might have in the future. The ones you might be causing. And the missing seats at your own table. The reality that they'd opted to be missing from a table because of the people who were already missing from it. Or as some sort of continued commentary about what those absences meant to Erin. And, Jay supposed, had indirectly meant for his life too.

So pretty much this shopping trip – Erin's attempt at distraction - had pretty much left him burying farther into his own head. It sort of made him wish she'd just let them continue sitting at home staring at the television. He could zone out doing that. Just go to another dimension. Or at least pretend that's what he was accomplishing. Stare blankly at the screen. Not think about everything that had gone on around them lately. Not the past year. Not the fast few months. Not the past week. None of it. Just watch some documentary or movie or sports. Anything. Binge. Netflix and chill.

Not that she'd forced him to come. But still. He'd felt like he should come. That even though Black Friday wasn't exactly a holiday. It was actually more of the antithesis of the whole meaning of Thanksgiving. It was still a holiday weekend. So he felt he should be spending it with Erin. That people shouldn't be alone over the holidays. Or maybe it was more that he didn't want to be alone with his own thoughts. So he'd come. Even though now it meant he was one of those dicks shopping the day after Thanksgiving.

Not that they were actually shopping. It was more like they were looking. Endlessly. And the reality was that maybe Erin would've really preferred to come out alone. Maybe she was looking for some alone time. And he'd burst that by tagging along. Because maybe he didn't really feel she should be alone that day either – even if she wanted it, even if it was only for a few hours.

He supposed the hustle and bustle out and about wasn't quite as bad as he expected. But it also wasn't like they'd gotten there at the crack of insanity either. Or that Erin picked stores to go into that attracted the typical Black Friday shopper types.

Not that he really had any idea of what a typical Black Friday shopper type looked like. He'd never bothered venturing out before. Though, he'd witnessed some of the materialistic consumerism insanity back when he was on patrol. Pulling guns on each other, punching each other and trampling each other over some deal had pretty much confirmed for him that he never needed to go out for that kind of shopping extravaganza. Until now. Apparently.

"Stop looking so pissed off," Erin put to him bluntly.

He stared at her blankly and shifted his eyes to the zipped hoodie she was holding. Some DC shoes thing that was all Buffalo checked red and black. He assumed she'd asked his opinion on it for Eth.

So he shrugged. "Yea. It's nice," he allowed.

He actually thought it was ass ugly and not much of an improvement over the clothing the kid already had in his wardrobe. About the only difference was that it had a giant branding across the front of it. Which pretty much just made it look more ridiculous.

But apparently "it's nice" was the wrong answer. Or she knew him well enough to know that it wasn't the answer he meant. His face likely said that.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, putting the hoodie back on the rack. "I didn't ask you about the shirt," she said and moved to continue flipping through the options in the boys sizes that might fit Eth.

"What'd you say?" Jay asked, nudging the cart after her a bit, as she examined more of the shirts.

He hated shopping enough. He really hated shopping in these stores. Fucking Marshalls and the sort. Having to go through every rack and table searching for what you wanted.

It wasn't much better than the thrift store or flea market. Which was probably why she liked the place so much. She liked the rooting and scavenging. And Jay completely didn't mind that when it came to hitting some of the flea markets with her and wandering around. Though he could likely do without making it kind of the go-to activity if they were going to leave the house on their shared day-off for something other than food, beer or groceries. Still, he'd admit he loved putting in some hours in the old vinyl shops and used bookstores with her. They'd definitely collected some cool shit that way. And, he could tolerate the antique shops too. There was admittedly some cool shit there too. Though, not really things that he'd spend money on. More of some 'look at this!' moments. And, he could almost manage the fucking rummage sales and garage sales.

But if he was going to buy something new, he'd prefer he didn't have to look through the entire fucking store to find the item that was vaguely acceptable like it was some kind of treasure hunt. Figure out what you want. Go to the fucking department store. Go to the section. Grab the size. Go to cash. Done. Better yet. Just by pass all that and do it all online. Click, click – done. Better.

But he'd made the mistake of making some depreciating comments about the whole fucking Marshalls thing in the past. Back when he'd drawn the line about stocking their new kitchen with all used stuff. Because decorating with her found-treasures was one thing. Eating off of plates and using cooking utensils and appliances that they had no idea where it'd come from or what it'd endured or how many times they should fucking wash it or sanitize it before consuming anything that had come into contact with it was another was a completely different thing.

So Erin had expressed that as a compromise, she'd be willing to go and root around Marshalls in search of a deal. He'd decided it was a great time to express that searching for deals was what the Internet existed for (and he was told no, the Internet exists for porn and he'd told her no, the Internet actually exists for the military). So there'd been bickering there. Maybe bantering. But he really should've taken that as the queue to just shut up but he'd instead decided to revert back to the original topic of conversation and drive home that Marshalls wasn't much better than her beloved flea markets and off-the-curb specials. Well that had gone over like a lead balloon.

He'd gotten snapped at – hard – about how not everyone could afford new. How she'd been lucky if she had enough cash to go to the thrift shop and pick up something second- (or third- or fourth-) hand when she was growing up. That you can find nice stuff there. That washing things before you used them wasn't a big deal. And had added the nice little jab that his father and his brother were showing in his commentary.

And he'd felt like a complete ass for what he'd said. And he'd felt pissed at her too – because that also wasn't how he meant it when he'd said it. It wasn't like he hadn't grown up in Will's hand-me-downs. Until his dad decided they needed to hide just how on the edge of the middle-class they actually were – by bumping their barely lower middle-class lifestyles up into the illusion of upper class.

So he got it. He'd definitely seen some of the corners his mom cut to be able to afford things for the family. Choices she'd made. He'd gone without. He'd gotten second-hand. And even though his mom would've never publicized it to his father, he knew she did her share of 'new' clothes for growing boys at the thrift shop too. That dad wasn't around enough that it was pretty easy to cut the tags and put them through the wash and for him to be none-the-wiser along as the label on the jeans, pants, shirts and sweaters was appropriate to the delusion he wanted them living in.

And Jay had internalized that too. He understood it. And he didn't live a high-class lifestyle now. He stayed within his means. He went without. And he didn't need a lot. And he was OK with that.

But he also knew that new kitchenware was definitely within their means. That's all he meant. And he would really prefer to start at new. And to start with something they actually wanted – not just whatever was decent in the sell-off inventory at Marshalls. Because it wasn't like she'd found some china that had been used at JFK's last state dinner or some shit.

Whatever. It wasn't exactly a fight. They'd just rubbed each other both the wrong way in that moment. And it'd been enough of a sore spot for both of them that he'd refrained from saying anything more about Marshalls. She wanted to shop there – whatever. Let her go on her treasure hunt. He'd trail behind. Acting like a fucking house husband. Again. But it was because he had her back. Even when they annoyed the fuck out of each other.

"That we can go to Best Buy or Toys R Us or Walmart or Target or whatever after," she muttered at him. The annoyance in her tone – that he hadn't been listening – was still apparent. Or maybe it was just that she was annoyed he'd come to trail along in her wake.

He rocked the cart a bit at that and slouched back down onto it. "Those places will be crazy," he said.

She glanced back at him. "Thought you wanted to look at TVs," she put to him.

He shrugged. "Real deals there will be long gone."

Really the whole door crasher Black Friday thing was one of the things he hated about the whole day. The whole fucking weekend and what Thanksgiving had become. That for him what it'd really become was one of days that made you look around and go, "Fucking really? This is what I fought for? So you assholes can eat through your meal at a million miles an hour without even looking at the people around you, so you can go out and stand in line to argue over who gets a fucking deal on a flatscreen? Forget family. Forget all in your life you've got to be thankful. All the people who gave so you could have it all – let's go fucking shopping." So he didn't really want to be one of them. He didn't want to be in Best Buy looking at fucking TVs. Even if he'd said they might find a good deal around now. One that she'd agree to.

She rubbed at her eyebrow. "Cyber Monday?" Erin suggested.

He shrugged again. "Maybe," he conceded.

He didn't really care. There'd be lots of sales between now and the New Year. And if they didn't get the flatscreen now, there'd be more TVs and newer technology six months down the road anyway. It wasn't a big deal. Even though it'd be pretty sweet to get a bigger screen and a real sound system set up. Not that they could really afford that all in one foul swoop. Even if they sold flatscreens and soundbars at Marshalls.

She sighed at him. It was one of her annoyed sounds. Somewhere between annoyed and pissed.

"You didn't have to come," she said bluntly and turned back to her search for clothes for Eth.

But he sighed himself and rocked the cart more, gently butting it against her ass. It was meant as a friendly tease but she gave him an even more pissed off look. That eyebrow going up again. This time in warning.

"I just thought we were going to take it easy today," he put to her.

"Because this is really demanding," she muttered, flipping along the rack some more.

"You know what I mean," he sighed at her. "I just thought we were going to spend the day in a turkey coma."

She cast him a look. "Jay, we didn't get to eat enough turkey to be in a turkey coma."

He shook his head. "Yea …," he acknowledged. "I still don't know what that was."

What it was was stupid. But obligatory. They likely could've avoided it with some well-placed excuses but somehow they hadn't had the foresight to place them ahead of time.

They'd both managed to get roistered for Thanksgiving. Great. But mentioning that to Will had meant that it'd gotten mentioned to Nina and the pieces got put in place that them working meant they didn't have any Thanksgiving plans. And, Nina had decided it was prudent to invite them over for dinner.

Nina seemed like a nice enough girl, which likely contributed to Jay's apprehension about spending any time with her and Will as a couple. Because it was only another fucking matter of time before Will screwed this relationship up too. Even worse because Jay didn't get the sense that this time it would be Will stringing some story about how a girl broke his heart. It was going to be him breaking Nina's.

It was so clear his brother wasn't over Natalie yet. He just didn't have the balls to figure out how to navigate that. And it was so much worse because even though Nina wasn't one of these unattainable twiggy bombshells that Will made a habit of pursuing, she was a nice woman. And Jay actually thought that overall, in terms of personality and some of her interests, she seemed like a much better fit for Will than Natalie. Natalie had been so out of his league and so unattainable on so many fucking levels and even though as a doctor, Jay liked and respected her well enough, he didn't think she was the best person for his brother. At all.

Yet in all of this, Will just though was being the good guy, the nice guy by giving Natalie space. Letting her live the life she wanted the way she wanted. To grieve and to be a mom the best way she knew how. Talked like he was some kind of saint and like they were still the best of friends on the job. But fuck that bullshit.

Jay saw exactly what he was doing. He was giving her space by rebounding into another relationship near immediately. With another doctor. At Med. So it was fucking visible to Natalie. It was cruel and vindictive. And so immature.

More immature – Will talked more about his and Nina's sex life than anything else about the poor girl. Apparently she had quite the appetite. Which Will felt the need to share. Which said a lot. In too many ways. Ones that Jay didn't particularly want to think about. But more importantly, it said to Jay that Will wasn't in it for a relationship. He was in it to get laid.

And that rubbed Jay the wrong way when clearly Nina was in it for more than that. It just seeped off her. The way she looked at his brother. She was beyond smitten, and Will was going to be sending her on a crash landing to reality. Jay could feel it coming.

He could see it. He could see how Will was using her too. Not just his solution to his alleged chastity while he waited for Natalie – that didn't come to the happy ending he wanted. But now Nina was his solution to his money troubles.

The whole thing just screamed shallow and desperate. And he sort of wished Nina could see that too. But she only knew Will so well – despite asking him to live with her after all of two months of dating. Not dating. Fucking. She was too head-over-heels for some fucking reason to see what was going on, though. But she was a nice girl. And she seemed smart. When the afterglow wore off and she started to see the relationship for what it really was – Will for who he was or at least what he was doing – hopefully she'd be the one to kick him to the curb before she got too hurt. Though, Jay could imagine that coming to those realizations were going to be hurtful enough for the poor girl.

Don't go fucking with people's hearts. Especially in their thirties. They just don't have the time for that shit anymore. If they're still looking for love and a relationship at that point in their life – that's what they want. Not just the sex or the fuck buddy or a roommate. So don't play pretend with them. Don't waste their fucking time. Don't hurt them. That's just cruel. But maybe Will had become too desensitized too right and wrong in relationships to the point that cruelity was acceptable. That he thought he was a nice guy to the point he didn't see the ways he was an asshole. How he was being an asshole right now.

Jay didn't fucking know. He figured him and Will might have words about it at some point when it became clear how fucking miserable he was making Nina.

Jay didn't get the sense that Will was completely down with Nina issuing the Thanksgiving invitation. But, Jay supposed he didn't want to be another Halstead to add to the girl's disappointment – so he'd agreed. And talked Erin into it. Not that that had been too hard. It was supposed to be a nice free meal after a long shift. Instead it'd been some pre-ordered, pre-cooked Whole Foods meal they'd gone over and picked up across the street from their weird apartment.

The place was strange. Seeing it actually ended all his commentary about Erin's decorative habits in the new place. Because he'd take Erin's 'style' over Nina's any day.

The apartment was all these pillars and chandeliers and wood paneling. It actually did look like something their dad would be comfortable in. Only tackier. It was just strange. Him and Erin had only been over twice but both times they'd had a "what the fuck is that place?" conversation after. They'd pretty much decided they were both waiting for a bunch of Victorians to come out and start the waltz in the grand ballroom rather than sitting in a living room of a condo. The place was ugly as shit.

Will and Nina likely thought about the same about their twenty-plus year old townhouse that was in an area still gentrifying and not too far from the border of higher crime sections of town. But they could think what they wanted about it. Because Jay's thoughts about the whole Will moving in with Nina thing wasn't just that he was pursuing some vendetta with Natalie and picking a shitty way to deal with his money problems, he also was very clearly doing a whole keeping up with the Joneses thing that he'd also learned from their fucking dad. And in this case the Joneses was him and Erin.

Will hadn't exactly said it, but Jay had definitely started to get the vibe that his brother wasn't exactly thrilled that his younger brother was moving ahead of him in the whole life milestones things. Engaged, wedding in the offing, mortgage, new house, no baby yet but there'd been the miscarriage and there'd be another attempt soon enough. Will was starting to be left in the dust. And there was definitely some realization going on about that. There'd been some comments that drove home that Will was aware of it and wasn't entirely comfortable with it. That he was trying to figure out how to navigate that too.

Actually it scared Jay a bit because dealing with his personal life and situations in it weren't historically Will's strong points. Tended to be something he ran away from. Things that triggered him into making some of the shittier decisions in his life. So if he was feeling pressure from multiple angles to keep up, who knew what sort of dumbass decisions he'd be making. Right now it was just him trying to create fronts. But that didn't mean there wasn't going to be all kinds of collateral damage left in his wake.

Possible example of dumb-ass decisions … inviting people over for Thanksgiving when you don't know how to cook? And when you apparently have a pretty skewed perspective of how much people eat – or want to eat – at a holiday meal. It was a damn good thing that they hadn't invited anyone else over because their ordered-in dinner had hardly fed the four of them.

"What that was is why you shouldn't be jealous about your brother living across from Whole Foods," Erin said. "Because that's what it looks like when you start letting Whole Foods do your cooking for you."

Jay allowed her a smile at that. Because he thought it was so fucking tacky that his brother was living across from the biggest Whole Foods in the city.

It said so fucking much too. About Nina and about where Will was and what he was doing. Will hated Whole Foods. He busted Jay's balls all the time for his protein shakes and his almond milk and eating greens and taking care of his body. For a doctor, his brother ate like shit. But Natalie? Natalie was all about the health foods. At the house-warming party, during his awkward chat with her and her attempt at a relationship – her fucking participation in the illusion of all of this being OK and her and Will still being friends – about the only thing she'd noted with a forced smile was, "This place is great. It's right across from a Whole Foods too." Telling. And ridiculous.

"I looked up how much they paid for that bullshit," Jay said of the Thanksgiving meal.

She cocked her eyebrow at him again. "And?"

"One-seventy." He cocked his eyebrow right back at her.

"You're shitting me?" she gapped.

"I'm assuming it was organic … so then, yeah, one-seventy," Jay confirmed.

"For a turkey—"

"You can not in good conscience call that sad little bird a turkey," he told her. "I'd feel like I was perjuring myself if I labeled it a chicken."

She smiled. Apparently he was worming his way out of the shit-house. "For a cockatiel, potatoes and green beans?"

"Don't forget the dressing, cranberry sauce and gravy," Jay said.

She shook her head and went back to her flipping. "Wasn't going to list the items sold to them as inedible."

It was his turn to grin a little at that. It was pretty fundamentally awfully. It was definitely not what they were expecting on the invite. But he supposed beggars can't be choosers.

"Maybe we can get turkey at the hotel tomorrow?" he put to her.

Eth – the little fuck – had made sure to give him an entire rundown on their Thanksgiving dinner off in Lake Geneva when he'd been on the one to pick up the phone while Erin was in the shower that morning.

Eth and fucking buffets. The kid was hilarious. In an annoyingly frustrating way. Like Erin. Fucking argument with him anytime it came to getting him to eat but give him a salad bar and he'd go to town.

Though, by the sounds of it, he'd indulged in more than the salad bar at the Thanksgiving buffet at the hotel. Or at least he'd had some turkey. It wouldn't have taken him eating much turkey – even by Ethan standards - for him to end up eating more than they'd been able to carve at that sad little carcass that Will had served up.

"Don't hold your breath that Hank will be willing to fork out for a forty dollar buffet twice," Erin said.

"We could pay," Jay said.

He got another eyebrow at that. "You're willing to pay forty bucks for Ethan to eat salad?"

"He ate more than salad," Jay said. Erin looked away like she didn't believe that. "He had a whole list."

"Just because he told you what was on the buffet doesn't mean he actually ate it," she said.

"He was eating a cinnamon roll while I talked to him," Jay provided. "Seemed pretty excited about that."

She gave him a look – still disbelieving - and pulled out a shirt to hold at him. "Is Volcom still a thing?"

Jay shrugged and rocked the cart under his elbows again. "This clothes shopping mean we're actually participating in Christmas?" he asked.

She gave him a sterner look. "Don't," she warned.

But it was a conversation they were going to have to have. Soon. Very soon. They'd started having some of it on their own but they really hadn't seemed to be able to finish it.

Jay figured the reality was that Erin knew what they needed to do – for Eth's sake. But she wasn't entirely happy about that. Because being there for Eth meant being there for Voight too. She'd floated that maybe they'd just go over for Christmas dinner. Or invite them over for Christmas dinner at the townhouse. But Jay had warned her to be careful that she wasn't decision where she'd end up punishing herself in the process of punishing Hank. And reminded her again what she already knew – that punishing anyone meant that she was also punishing Ethan.

He got the sense that Erin had hoped that maybe Eth wouldn't be too interested in doing Christmas this year. And that if Eth wasn't interested and Olive wasn't going to come home, that they could all just ignore the holiday. Jay knew that that never really worked. He'd been trying to ignore Christmas since his mom died at the holiday too. But it's so in your face in the lead up that you know it's there. And no matter how much you try to pretend it's just another day the day of, you know. You feel it. And the absence is still there. You still hurt. You still feel alone. It doesn't help not putting up a try or not giving gifts or hanging stockings or avoiding family and tradition. If anything avoiding all of it just makes you think about what's missing and what it was in the past even more.

And she wasn't getting the option of avoiding it entirely because that was what Ethan wanted anyway. Because, if anything, Eth had been clinging to family traditions and routines. He'd made that really clear. Near every conversation he had with Eth anymore there was some reference to either his mom or his brother. The way things were or had been.

And Jay suspected that was only going to get more feverish the closer they got to Christmas. That the kid was going to be trying to recreate things. They were just going to have to hope that in the recreation of all things from some imagined past, he wasn't setting himself up for a greater disappointment and emptiness the day of. Because it wasn't going to matter how much the Voight's front room looked like the way his mom and dad did it up when they were little. Wasn't going ot matter what food or treats or cookies got made or put out. What Christmas music got put on or what movies got watched. The reality was going to be that having all that stuff didn't mean that his mom and Justin were going to suddenly reappear to spend Christmas with them. Jay really doubted that the poor kid – and Voight – were even going to have Olive and Henry there. And he really had to hope that someone – Voight, Erin, the family counselor they went to, Eth's therapist … someone – was telling him that. He'd just be building a theatrical set. The actors weren't going to be on stage.

Jay was pretty torn about how he wanted to play Christmas. Part of him really felt like they should be there for Eth. To make the day a bit easier. Or to help him find other traditions. That they should make some sort of appearances on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Another part of him wanted the first Christmas with his fiancée in their own house to be their own. To have alone time today. To start making their own memories and traditions. And then another part of him knew what Christmas meant to him and how he felt that day and the days after and he sort of wanted to get on board with Erin's preferred option of trying to ignore it all together. No tree, no decorations, no presents. But that just wasn't really a realistic option.

"I'm still getting Eth something even if …," she shook her head and held up the shirt at him again. "So is it a thing?"

He sighed. Though, he supposed the Christmas conversation wasn't exactly one for inside a busy store.

"Not likely at Iggy's," he said. Truth was he wasn't sure Volcom was 'a thing'. Or at least it wasn't his. He doubted it was Eth's either. "Erin, if he's looking for clothes to go matchy-matchy with the kids at a private school, we need to be going over to Abercrombie or Tommy Hilfiger or American Eagle or some shit." She made a face. "I know," he agreed. "Then he'd look like a dick. And that fifty bucks isn't even going to cover a tshirt."

She turned away and her continued search of the rack, putting the Volcom shirt back. "Willing to spend more than fifty dollars," she muttered.

Jay cocked his eyebrow at her at that. "Because you're willing for this to be his Christmas present?"

She gave him a glare at that. But this clothes thing was creating more tension in the whole what the fuck are we going to do with Christmas thing?

Voight apparently was willing to dole out his seasonal clothing budget for the kid. Split it up some. Hand them fifty bucks to get Eth some clothes and to put it under the tree. Skip the headache that was shopping with Ethan. Voight also likely hoped Erin knew better what was 'cool' than he did. Thing was, Erin wasn't exactly high fashion either. And she definitely wasn't upper-class high school fashion. Some junior varsity shit. Which was totally fine. Jay liked that. And liked most of what she wore just fine.

The problem came into play when Erin was refusing to take the fifty bucks but still insisting on buying Ethan the clothes. So, Jay supposed this was a bit of a treasure hunt. But it was also fucking ridiculous.

"Thought you said you wanted to get him a Lava Lamp or a Bluetooth speaker for Christmas?" Jay put to her again.

She gave him another warning look. "Jay, I'm a big girl. I've managed my budget and gift buying for Ethan all on my own for thirteen years. Including a Christmas with his mom gone and his dad and brother in jail. So, pretty sure I don't need – and definitely didn't ask for – your input this year."

He shrugged at her. "Sure," he acknowledged. "But maybe I'm just trying to make a friendly suggestion that you shouldn't blow your budget buying clothes you don't really want to get him or that are going to do nothing for improving his status at Ignatius."

"Jay," she warned even more firmly, moving away from him down the rack some more.

He followed. "Or maybe we should take the fifty bucks Voight is offering up from Eth's clothes budget. And maybe we should get clothes Eth actually wants and will actually wear."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Henleys, thermals, and flannel?"

He shrugged. "Seems to be the family's standard uniform," he provided. She glared. "I don't understand what is wrong with what Eth wears."

Because he didn't. The kid got new clothes bought for him. He dressed like his dad. But he was being raised by a working single father. In a single-income, middle-class, cop family in the Midwest. He dressed the role. He looked fine. He wore jeans and cords and khakis. He lived in hoodies and tshirts. He looked like your typical pre-teen kid as far as Jay was concerned. Sometimes his clothes were ill-fitting but that had more to do with his weight fluctuations with his illness and the meds. And Eth's refusal to participate in clothes shopping so the having to guess on sizes.

He thought him and Erin had helped diversify his wardrobe to look a little less like Voight since he'd come home. But he still didn't look like a rich kid. He likely didn't have the brands that the rest of the kids were wearing at Iggy's on civies days. But slapping a purple tshirt with some polo player logo on it on him wasn't really going to help.

He wished Erin would remember the commentary Erin had had after seeing Justin in his fucking purple shirts and golf shirts and polo shirts. Olive changed her wardrobe too. Somehow it worked on her. Jay felt the upgraded wardrobe on Justin pretty much just made him look like a bigger asshole. Could still see his stripes even though they were both trying to look like that young suburban family.

But him and Erin had a bit of an unspoken agreement that Justin's name only got mentioned when she brought him up now. And that even with him being gone, she defended him – provided justifications for all his behaviors and mistakes – far more vehemently than she had while he was alive. And he got his throat jumped down if he said anything too disbarring about the dead – about her brother. Which, Jay supposed he understood. He pretty much felt he was the only one whole was allowed to talk about what an ass Will could be too. And in the end, he defended him – looked after him – too. It was just what you did for your brother. Purple shirt and asshole maneuvers and all.

"He wants to fit in," Erin put flatly.

"Erin, dressing him up like the rest of the little douchebags isn't going to make him fit in. And the kids already know who and what he is. Giving him a makeover isn't going to change that. You know that. You experienced it."

She sighed at him. Because he knew what she was thinking. He knew that this year wasn't going well. Not at school. The kids and the programming at the Rehab Institute seemed to be a bit of a saving grace. But that didn't help for the six hours a day he was on campus. It didn't help in the hours more they spent slogging through homework with him. And Jay knew it had them all wondering about what it would mean for high school. Not just academically – but socially. But, again, putting him in some costume wasn't going to fool the kids. He'd be with the same kids. They'd just be in a different building. Nothing was going to change.

"Voight said—"

"Do not start quoting him like his word is gospel like Ethan," she spat at him.

He tilted his head at her in his own warning. Because he fucking hated when they got into these little tiffs that nudged beyond more than tiffs because one of them went and decided to go raising their voices to express their frustration and then shit when exploding in both of their faces.

More than that, he really fucking hated that he had to be the one reminding her of things that Hank fucking said. He hated that he'd become a bit of the go-between between the too. The fucking monkey in the middle. More like the ass in the middle. That they'd gotten to the point that Erin could manage being in the same room with him but she still feigned like she wasn't listening. Or at least was completely uninterested in anything Voight was saying at the time. And most of the time she likely was. And she seemed to be doing a pretty good job at pretending that she really hadn't absorbed – or heard – anything the man said outside of the job no matter how fucking mundane it was.

So yea. Sometimes he needed to fucking quote Hank. To remind her of a conversation that had been had. That she'd fucking been present for. Because otherwise, all three of them would be stuck in some other parallel universe where they were going to pretend it didn't happen. Just like Ethan's little parallel universe where if they just kept up every tradition that ever was (many of which he didn't actually even officially remember because his brain injury had wiped them from his head but that he wanted to pretend he remembered anyways) was going to conjure up some sort of holiday magic for the family.

So he quoted Hank. But it wasn't that it was gospel. It was that he was just trying to respect everyone's boundaries as they moved forward. Or fucking tried to. He was trying to play within the shifting goal posts of Hank and Erin's fucking dynamic these days that didn't make a whole lot of sense. But that he was willing to try to keep level. To play by their rules. And to get them to play by each other's rules. To by that referee. Because he knew what it felt like to loose your entire family. And he didn't want that for Ethan. And as much as Erin seemed conflicted on what she wanted in the now – Jay knew that a few years down the road when the sting of all this had turned into a dull ache, she was still going to want the family she grew up with. Or what was left of it. To make sure that was still there – someone had to be putting in the work in the now. Voight was trying. So Jay was trying to keep it all together on Erin's behalf. And that was a fucking tough pill to swallow some days. He was in his own fucking grey areas. And he hated that. And he hated it more when Erin snapped at him like by living in that particular grey area he was playing sides. Because he wasn't doing that either. He was just trying to look out for her again. And Eth. The best way he could figure out how in this whole mess.

So all she got was the tilted head in warning. And he made himself ignore the comment and not escalate it. Because it wasn't a topic they were going to get into in the middle of Marshalls either.

"… he said he was likely going to pick up some lined jeans for Eth," Jay continued, "and a flannel or something, so why don't we—"

"Right," Erin interrupted again still with that notable anger. "So let's head over to DICK'S after this. Then he can look like a real dick."

"Or he maybe he'd just look like Ethan," Jay pressed. "Because I'm pretty sure fifty bucks would put a nice dent in getting him some Under Armor or maybe a World Series shirt. And those are things I'm pretty sure he wants."

Erin huffed at him and leaned her arm against the rack staring at him. "What he wants is for Olive and Henry to come home at Christmas," she said, her anger spiking again.

Jay gazed at her. His acknowledgement that that was what this was all about. That that's likely what all of this was going to be about for a long time. At least at every holiday. And in the lead up to every holiday. And the lead up to every little date on the calendar that Eth had decided held some sort of significance in the family's narrative or his memories of his brother – good and bad.

But no matter how much any of this was about that – that was something he couldn't fix for Eth and he couldn't fix for Erin either. That was going to have to be something that Voight would have to fix himself – no matter how hard Erin tried to fix it on the family's behalf. And Jay knew that's where part of Erin's anger and frustration came from too – because she'd tried and she hadn't been able to fix it either. And that was because there wasn't a solution. Jay knew that from experience.

After someone decided they were leaving – that they needed out of the city and the memories it held and the history and influences in it – it needed to be that person who decided they were ready to come back. On their own. When it came down to it most decisions were ones you had to make and standby on your own. People can only help you so much. And they can't fix you. You have to do that for yourself. You have to want it.

He'd run away from his past and his family and his history and everything this city had represented to him at the time. It'd taken his mother inching toward her deathbed. His best friend nearly dying when it should've been him who'd ended up like Mouse did and maybe it should've been home dead on the on the ground in some desert across the world. It'd taken losing his mind in some ways. And agnozing about what going home meant. It'd taken promises they'd fucking made to each other about how they'd get each other through – whatever they encountered back state side. Whatever returning to civilian life meant. And to their own broken families with their minds and emotions fractured in their own separate ways. And it'd taken him coming to his own realization that as much as he hated his father and still was scared of what Chicago meant to him and held for him – he couldn't leave his mother going through what she was going through alone. That was something she didn't deserve.

Will had taken longer to find it in himself to come back to the city. Mom being sick, Mom dying – it'd just pushed him farther way. It'd made him find more excuses and reasons not to come back. Not to face the city and the history and the family and the memories. And it hadn't mattered what Jay had said. The nice things, the pleading things, the cruel things. It didn't matter if they joked or they fought. If they reminiscence about good times or waded into some of their wounds that they'd each experienced differently – that had left very different marks – but they'd shared. Nothing Jay had said had brought Will home either. It had to be a decision he made all on his own. And it'd taken a long time. It wasn't a decision he came to five-six months after Mom's death.

And Jay accepted that it wasn't likely going to be one that Olive came to in short order after the loss of her spouse – even if that spouse was Justin Voight. Because for whatever Jay felt about Justin – he also acknowledged the guy was her husband, lover and friend. He even more fundamentally acknowledged that Olive had her own history, memories and demons haunting her in Chicago. Things she'd already tried to escape. Maybe things she thought she could face and deal with living her second life as a wife and mother with Justin at her side. But that she wasn't ready to tackle on her own as a single mom with Voight – and all the things she'd heard about who and what Voight was, whether that was in the past or not – making up her only obvious support network or safety net in the city.

And he'd talked to Erin about all that. And she listened. And she acted like she understood. But the other reality was that as much as she could understand what he was saying, she was also still Ethan's big sister and Jay had also come to accept that that meant that she was going to be a person who'd fight for that kid even if it was her digging her own shallow grave from useless battles and exhaustion. And right now, Olive – and her absence and the absence she was creating of Henry – was on the list of people hurting Eth. So she wasn't going to stop trying to fix it. She'd keep trying until she was blue in the face – no matter how frustrated it made her. No matter how angry and exhausted.

It wasn't going to matter what Jay said to try to make it easier for her to accept either. To give Olive whatever time it was she needed to come to the decision that Jay had to hope she'd come to on her own eventually. Even if that was years down the road.

"What he wants is for what's left of his family to be in one place on Christmas," he corrected gently. "And, if he can't have that, then maybe we should at least get him something that he'll want to wear. Not just something he thinks he wants to wear to fit in with people who don't give a shit about him. There's nothing wrong with how he dresses and what he's comfortable in. And there's nothing wrong with him dressing like the people who take care of him – who give a shit. Two."

It got the small tug of a smile at the corners of her mouth but sadness flickered in her eyes and she looked away, rubbing at her eyebrow. "You really don't want to go to one of the department stores or Toys R Us?"

"They're still going to be there another day," he said.

She sighed and drummed her fingers on the rack. "I thought you wanted to look at the Lego?"

"Yea, I'm actually not sure if I'm going to do that," he muttered rocking the cart again.

Their fucking empty cart. It was actually kind of funny. They'd so far bought nothing. People around them looked like they were trying to buy out the store. He supposed they weren't doing so great at the whole Black Friday shopping thing after all. They weren't those people. They were just people who needed out of the house and their thoughts. But they knew that spending money and having more stuff didn't really help you escape reality or buy people lost back – or happiness.

It was her turn to gazed at him. "Jay, he'd love that set," she stressed but with this gentleness that she was so good at. The one that washed away all their little tiffs and frustrations they had with each other and their stubbornness and strong-headedness.

He let out a little sigh because of it, and shrugged. "I think Voight might be getting him Lego. He said something about-"

Erin shook her head. "No. The gift under the tree will be practical and he wouldn't spend that much on the Santa present."

"If Eth wants a Santa present this year," Jay said.

The light moved around in her eyes again. "He will," she acknowledged weakly. "Tradition. So Hank will get one for him. But him and Camille never spent a lot on the Santa toy. Not with them putting other goodies in the stocking. It was always Justin who got him a Lego set, and it would've always been one of the smaller ones. Ten, fifteen dollars maybe."

He nodded at her. "And that's the other thing. I don't want to go crashing across some boundary—"

"Jay," she put to him firmly again, "you do a Lego set with him every month. It's not crossing a boundary. It's an established activity."

"If it's a tradition he had with his brother, with the way he is with traditions and routines right now—"

Erin shook her head hard. "Justin had his chance with Lego and with Star Wars. He fucked it up Jay," she said. "Eth will love getting that set and he will love getting it from you. And spending time with you to put it together. Get him the Star Wars plane."

He tilted his head at her again. This time with a small tease. "It's Poe's stealth X-Wing fighter."

She shook her head, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. "Whatever …," she muttered. "I want to go to one of the stores. I need to pick out something for Henry and get it into the mail."

"You know if you order it online you can get it sent right to them, right?" he asked.

She squinted at him. "Are you in a big hurry to get back to the house? Because I'm pretty sure I remember our morning looking something like we weren't doing anything, we felt guilty about that, so we were cleaning. Cleaning, Jay."

"I can think of other things to do at home besides cleaning," he raised his eyebrow and gave her a grin.

She did roll her eyes that time. "We did that already today."

He nudged the cart against her again. This time it actually got a smile out of her. "Didn't know there was a limit on the number of times you can do it in a day."

"There's definitely a limit on the number of times it can be done in a day," she said, casting him a look. Or more specifically his crotch, before meeting his eyes in some sort of teasing accusation.

He weighed whether she was suggesting he couldn't get it back up quick enough after a round or if she was making some sort of commentary about chaffing. But he decided the best response was to return the rolled eyes. "And I'm pretty sure we haven't reached that limit today," he said, nudging her again with the cart.

She shook her head a bit. "Lost your opportunity," she said. "You were watching TV."

He gaped at her. "You went and got in the shower. I thought you were done."

She shrugged. "Usually you don't take shower time as an indication we're done. You actually seem to usually use it as an invitation for Round Two."

He gaped at her more. "Your baby brother called—"

"And you thought answering a call from Ethan when your fiancée is naked and soapy in the shower was the best use of your time?" She raised that eyebrow again.

He shook his head. "Now we really aren't cleaning the house when we get home," he informed her as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached to retrieve it. With his luck it was finally going to be the offer of a shift now that he really just wanted to get home. Though, he supposed the anticipation could make things better when he did actually get home if he was going to be out on some beat for the night. He sighed though and cast her a look. "Eth is texting me. Should I ignore him now too?"

"What's he want?" she asked, rubbing at her eyebrow.

Their breaks from Eth were only so much of a break any more. Especially this weekend. He'd been in near constant communication with them. They were getting a real play-by-play of his weekend in Lake Geneva with his dad.

Erin had been pretending like she wasn't that interested. Distancing herself from it. But Jay could tell she liked the updates. She liked seeing some glimpses of happiness in Eth even though they both knew the kid was struggling some. Had an idea about where his head would be – or at least drifting too. But at least Voight was keeping him distracted too. He was trying. Getting the kid out of the house and out of the city. Actually booking some furlough to take the kid's whole Thanksgiving break. Trying to create some new memories and maybe new traditions with him. Because for all Voight's fucking faults – he wasn't a horrible guy when it came to him being a dad and his efforts in trying to get Eth through all of this as a semi-functional human being.

Jay knew that Voight would've had enough on his mind that weekend with Justin being gone and Olive and his grandson not coming home. With moving into the holiday season and this time of family and tradition being rubbed in your face and trying to navigate his own feelings and sense of loss in that while trying to get his kid through it. That would've been more than a fucking enough. But then they'd had a cop killer on the loose in Chicago just before the holiday.

And Jay knew that packing up and going on holiday after the case they'd just wrapped was likely hard. After it opened up old wounds about his own dad. After cops in the city got killed – which always brought out the dog with a bone in Voight badly. Which was another thing Jay could understand and relate to in his own way, as much as he hated having any parallels with Voight. After it involved a kid from another cop in a case he'd worked. After they'd had to shoot that kid in the head. Voight had to give the order to take him down. For Olinsky to pull that trigger.

Jay was sure there was a hell of a lot going through Voight's head that weekend. About what had just happened in their city. About the loss of his own dad. Weighing his decision as a cop and a man and a father to order that kill shot. About him drawing his own parallels to Eth and what might happen to him with the right – or wrong – triggers. A glimpse of what became of kids who went through too much trauma too soon. A reminder about loss and mental health – and about where blame fell in a kid's mind. About the if and how you made your fathers proud. The decisions made and unmade. And the domino effect all that had.

Voight likely wasn't all there that weekend. But Jay had been around Voight – as a father – enough to know that he'd be all there for Eth. Because when he was there – he was really there. And Jay was glad he'd still decided to go. Not that he'd ever indicated that he was thinking he wouldn't. Because that was also just not within Voight's mentally. He'd told Eth they'd made the trip – he felt the trip was the best choice for getting Eth through the holiday – so they'd go.

And as far as Jay could tell, as a dad Voight was out there doing a good job. That even though there was some melancholy in Eth's voice, there'd also been excitement about what they were doing. That he'd chatted and texted and FaceTimed and sent photos and videos of the things they were getting up to there. Of the food and the resort and the pool and the lake. Some of that might've been Ethan trying to nudge them into agreeing to head out there. And even though that wasn't going to happen, beyond the agreed day trip they'd reached before their departure, it was at least illustrating that Eth wasn't curled up on himself and buried in his head. Despite the sadness –he was still finding some happiness. And Jay knew that in the grieving process that step counted for a whole lot.

So he smiled at the latest set of photos and handed the phone to Erin, and he watched as a smile grew across her face too.

"He did it," she allowed.

"Looks like it," Jay agreed.

The three photos that had buzzed through were of Eth and Voight on some sort of ecology and canopy tour. But more importantly, it was Eth at the top of the tall platform and strapped in to do the zipline he'd been so excited about.

It was something that Eth and Voight had finally reached some agreement on being a reasonable way to spend his saved up allowance. And it wasn't cheap. The thing was, even though Eth had been spouting that this outing was what he was going to spend a good chunk of his allowance on, Jay was pretty sure that the next time he was over at Voight's place and in the kitchen that Eth's savings jar was likely still going to be sitting pretty full on that shelf above the coffeemaker. He didn't doubt that Voight would make him pay for part of the outing - as one of his lessons about wants and needs and saving and spending and privileges and achievement - but that he'd subsidize it. That'd be the word he'd use with the kid. Because, again, for all the things Voight was and wasn't – as a father, he was fair even if he was stern. And something like this – an activity with his son – wasn't something Voight would expect Eth to pay for all on his own.

Or maybe he'd subsidize it because none of them had really been sure that Eth would realistically be able to navigate the canopy tour as well as he seemed to want to. Jay supposed that everyone had tried to be cautiously optimistic that Eth would be able to complete the activity. That he'd been introduced to some of the basics of it through some of his activities at RIC. That the kid had wicked upper body strength. That he'd been figuring out how to manage his lazy legs in the rock climbing course they'd been taking through the Institute's military sports programming. The one that Jay had been roped into going to with him – so Eth could be admitted into the program – when Mouse had decided he needed to do his own running away and disappearing act from the city again. When he'd become another example that proved that you can't make people be somewhere they don't want to be. That you have to let them make their own decisions – that are best for them, even if they aren't best for you or the people you care about.

But even with the strides Eth was making in learning how to manage his disabilities – making them less and less of a disability, Jay thought they all suspected that outside of the supportive RIC environment that did everything it could to make near any activity adaptive if a kid wanted to try it, that if Eth was having a bad day it was likely going to be near impossible for him to navigate the stairs, platforms and narrow bridges on the tour to get to the much hyped zipline. Not with his crutches. And without them, Eth moved so slow even on flat land. And dealing with the carabineers on his safety harness and the various pulley and zipline systems if his hands were tremoring? Even if he was having a good day, it was likely going to be more than a challenge for the kid.

But Eth had proven in the past that he could do things that he put his mind too. If he wanted to. He was stubborn – born into that honest as far as Jay could tell. Family trait. And Ethan was a strong kid – mentally, emotionally and physically. Despite everything he'd been through. And even if he was dealing with depression and anxiety. Even if could revert to little kid tantrums to express his frustration with the emotions he didn't know how to express about everything he was dealing with. Even if the kid could get teary. It was understandable. He had a lot on his plate. But he kept moving forward. Inch by inch. Even if he'd been stuck in some ruts.

And he'd definitely wanted to do this course. If he'd gone into thinking he would be doling out the entire cost, he was likely even more committed to getting the entire experience. Getting to that fucking zipline. And it looked like he had achieved that. And by the looks of it, he was pretty proud of his accomplishment. And he should be. He was proud of him looking at those photos. He could see the pride in Erin's thin smile too, and maybe a touch of regret they weren't there to see him having achieved it.

Jay would say that by the looks of it, Voight was pretty proud his kid had managed too. But Jay saw how proud Voight got of all his kids. When he talked about them. Even in the few words he used. It wasn't the words he used, though. It was the look he got on his face. It said way more. And it was a look that Jay had never seen in his own father. Maybe that's why it was so noticeable on Voight.

Still, with glancing at the photos, Jay knew if it was another time, him and Erin would actually be trading comments about Voight in his own bright red helmet. That Erin would be directing some of the sarcasm to his face. But they weren't in those times anymore. They didn't trade those kinds of jokes. Erin didn't hand out that kind of friendly sass to the man.

She started keying something into the phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Telling him off for not sending me the pictures too," she mumbled while she texted. "And telling I want to see video evidence of him doing the zipline."

She handed the phone back, it making the sound of a sent message, as it returned to his hand. Jay looked at the pictures one more time before flipping around on the phone, calling up his weather app again.

"Still supposed to rain tomorrow," he informed her. She just shrugged. "Are we still going to drive out if it's raining?"

"We said we would," she said with some distaste.

It'd been another compromise. One that was more about Eth than anything. Like anything to do with her side of the whole family dynamic thing seemed to be anymore.

But he suspected her distaste in that statement might've had more to do with the fact that neither of them had managed to get paid OT to work a shift today. After trying to get them onboard with coming up and doing an overnight or two on finally time – which had again been turned down, but which Erin may be regretting now with Eth's photos at the zipline – Hank had thrown them a bone in roistering them as the on-calls for the Friday. It'd mean a small supplement on their next payday. But nothing like if they'd managed to get roistered as on shift in the bullpen over the holiday or if they'd snagged some coverage for some uni that didn't want to get the holiday pay to walk the beat on the long weekend.

All-in-all, Jay would have to say that their whole first big holiday weekend together in the townhouse was shaping up to be pretty disappointing. They weren't really doing much. And without landing anything beyond working actual Thanksgiving, it was sort of feeling like a waste of time having decided to just hang around the city. That if they weren't going to go out to Lake Geneva with Voight and Eth, maybe they should've headed to the cabin. Not that Erin was much for the cabin in the warmer months – let alone now that it was actually starting to get chilly. And he'd already done the winterization of it, so she wouldn't even have the usual amenities she expected – like running water and heat that didn't come from a wood stove. She alleged it made her think too much of growing up in squats and the heat and water always being turned off because Bunny couldn't pay her bills. Or rather that Bunny decided that money was better spent on booze, pills and blow. So he couldn't really argue with her too hard about that.

Though, he likely could've – or maybe should've – used the presentation of that argument was an opportunity to remind her what a Class A act Bunny was. Because he was really having trouble with this whole letting Bunny back into her life thing. It all just seemed like a giant 'fuck you' to Voight.

For all that Erin spouted about being born into bad news, if there was any truth in that statement, it was that Bunny was the bad news. And it was Bunny who consistently dragged bad news into Erin's life. And Erin just let it keep happening.

In was something else that Jay could begrudgingly agree with Voight on. That Bunny was the cancer in Erin's life. And that Bunny preyed on Erin the most when she was vulnerable. Right now – Erin was still vulnerable. And she didn't have the protection of her family. She didn't have that armor. And Jay wasn't sure that she'd let him be the armor in the way that Voight had managed for all those years.

And Jay could understand on some level that with the current state of her family, Erin was looking for some sort of connection or comfort. But wasn't going to provide that. Bunny had fundamentally failed at that over and over again. She should've more than used up all her chances now. And Jay felt this was just something else that was likely going to end badly.

It was already charging toward badly with fucking Bunny presenting that Erin's biological father wanted to meet her. And Erin actually considering meeting him. And the fact she was considering it meant that it wasn't just going to be a consideration – it was going to happen. No matter what Jay said to try to dissuade it.

And him presenting his arguments against it just was making her dig her heels in more. Making her spout off about him being her father. Only he wasn't her fucking father. He was a sperm donor. She had a father. However she felt about Hank right now – he was her dad. Even if they'd all seemed to have settled into the fact she wasn't willing to call him that and didn't want anyone else referring to him as that anymore. But he was the guy who raised her. He was the guy who still looked after her and out for her even when she was a grown woman. The guy still cared about her. It was Voight and his wife who were Erin's parents, not Bunny and whoever the fuck this jagoff was that Bunny wanted to present as the father that Erin could barely remember and only clung to a few brief conversations with the man from jail. A man she hadn't heard from in years. A man she hadn't fucking seen since she was barely out of diapers.

Erin had a family. He was her family. Voight and Ethan were her family. Olive and Henry. Her memories of Justin and Camille. That was family. Real fucking family. It didn't matter that they weren't blood. They were more real – more important – than whatever Bunny was offering up. All Bunny ever offered up was no good. It was these fucking banana peels that Voight talked about. It was just asking for Erin to get more hurt.

And in the process she was likely going to devastate Voight – even though he'd never say that. And even if she didn't care about that - even if that was the point on some fucking level – she was also going to confuse the fuck out of Ethan. Because even though Eth was old enough to understand that Erin wasn't his biological sister, that his parents weren't Erin's biological parents – he still saw them as family. He still saw Erin as his sister. He still saw his dad as her dad. His mom as her mom. That was all he'd known. All he remembered. And his brief glimpses of Bunny had scared and confused him. This wasn't going to make sense to him. Being told she wanted to know her 'real' family or to understand where she came from weren't explanations at thirteen year old kid could grasp. Jay could barely grasp them – even though he understood what she was saying. Because he knew her real family and he knew where she came from too. He knew all he needed to know about where she came from and who she was. He didn't need to play nice with Bunny or meet this asshole to understand any of it any better. To learn anything new about her. It all just felt like it was going to be another fucking hole he was going to have to help pull her out of. And that he'd likely have to be trying to keep Eth from falling into it too.

And Jay just wasn't fucking sure how either of them would survive the fall. Not these days.

He wished Bunny had just stayed the fuck out of Chicago. That when she'd runaway from her problems and the city and the memories and baggage left there – that she hadn't come back. Ever.

"I don't think we'll be able to do paintball or tactical combat if it's raining," he provided, though. Because the more he argued with her about Bunny the more it pushed her toward wanting to play nice. The more it hastened her decision about the sperm donor. And Jay wanted to put off all of that as long as he could. And if it was going to be something they discussed – again – it wasn't going to be in Marshalls.

He was actually starting to see a pattern here. Some additional reasoning to her decision to get out of the house. Conversations they were avoiding having of their own.

"I guess we'll have to find something else to do," she said.

"Inside? In Lake Geneva?" he arched his eyebrow.

She shrugged. "There will be stuff to do at the resort."

"Like what?" he put to her.

She shrugged again with some annoyance. "I don't know. If there's not, we'll go to a movie or something. Fantastic Beasts."

"You're going to let him see that one before we read the book?" he teased. But she just arced an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "Is there even a theater in Lake Geneva?"

She gestured dismissively at him. "Can't you Google that? You Google everything else."

He made an annoyed sound at her and cast her a look. He was actually already keying it into his phone. But she was looking away to dig her own phone out of her pocket as it buzzed.

"He send a video?" he asked, gazing at his.

It did look like there was an actual town in Lake Geneva – complete with a movie theater - after you got beyond the weekend-getaway tourist strip.

Somehow he'd never been out that way. Maybe his family couldn't afford it. And his dad hadn't found someone to invite them out to a cottage on the lake to keep up the illusion about who and what they were. Jay was sort of glad about that, though. Because Eth seemed to really like going on there and he didn't want to have his own perceived notions about what the place was. His own memories to battle. He had enough of those.

"It's not Ethan," Erin muttered.

Jay's eyes bolted up with some accusation. "It better not be Bunny," he pressed firmly. Because there was no way he was spending more time with her this weekend. Letting her fuck with Erin's head more. She'd already dropped enough of a bomb that was going to have her spinning. Erin needed time to make her decision about the asshole. Bunny didn't need to be pressuring her into making it more than she already was.

But Erin just shook her head, lifting the phone to her ear and giving him a look. "It's Olive," she said.

Jay scrunched his eyebrows at that. She'd been avoiding calls. As per usual. He had to hope that it was just her returning the message Erin had left the day before. But somehow he doubted it. It didn't seem in character for her. And all of a sudden it sort of felt like Bunny calling might've been a better name to show up on the caller ID.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews, comments and feedback are much appreciated. Thanks to the one reviewer out of 9,417 of you who've read the last chapter.**

 **I wanted to play with some of the stuff from the last episode a bit here. And to explore dealing with first holidays and traditions after a loss. So I might work on a bit of an arc here. I will go back and fill in the gaps and complete the other arcs and story lines as usual. It just takes time and I only have so much of it.**

 **I've had some people ask about what I've thought about the season so far and how I feel about some of my thoughts/predictions on where they would go with this season.**

 **My general commentary is that I've been pretty disappointed with the season so far. I like some of the cases. But my disappointment stems from the fact that this series is no longer serialized. It is closed-ended episodes. There is not a notable them or arc driving the season (or even really the series at this point). Yes, yes … there's a little Linstead plot going on but that's different from this being a serialized series with over-arcing themes and plots spanning entire seasons or entire series and built around the protagonist (Voight).**

 **CPD moving away from serialized television is not something I foresaw coming. It is why my predictions about what they'd do with the season are so badly off. And it's also why I'm pretty disappointed with the show this season as a viewer and as a writer.**

 **I do have thoughts about why they are moving away from serialization. I think it'd likely based around the fact that the whole One Chicago thing has gotten so complicated that that the show being serialized is near impossible. It is also likely partially based on CPD moving into the territory where it has enough episodes to be sold as a syndicated series. But because the series was serialized for its first couple seasons, that's hard to sell in bulk in a way that can be aired out of order. That would be a problem in some ways. Beyond that I don't think NBC is that comfortable with serialized television — and its dependence on syndication across its platforms and sells internationally. And, I also think Dick Wolf might've not been huge into the whole serialization thing. In TV land, he's really known for having established close-ended episodes in the procedural genre. It's pretty much a visionary pioneer in that area. It's a very dated TV formula anymore. It's not true to the Second Golden Age of Television we're in. I have a whole other commentary on that. But basically, CPD is transitioning into a very close-episode procedural. It means that we don't so much see the characters change and grow — we just learn about them by placing personal connections between a character in a case in every episode. It's formula and it's kind of boring.**

 **We're also seeing them phase out the dual plot structure that we originally saw in CPD. There was initially an A Plot in the Intelligence case and a B Plot in the patrol case. If you go and look at the original log lines of the show, you'll see that they're very clearly cited as a series with two parallel stories — not necessarily interconnected. But now with Bugress moving upstairs, it looks like the Patrol story lines are moving toward being completely eliminated from the show. They've been slowly moving in that direction for a while. The Patrol plots have been becoming less and less even in Season 3.**

 **I suspect that might have to do with Justice too. That basically now we're going to have Law & Order across two series. The crime happens on CPD and then the court story happens on Justice. Though, I really, really hope they aren't doing that with every episode and story.**

 **Anyways. The cases are interesting. I've enjoyed a lot of them. But I really do miss the serialization and the depth of the characters and the stories that the serialization provides. That there was this kind of gritty serialized TV on network television was what really grabbed me about CPD and drew me in. It's not that show anymore. Right now it's pretty much just a procedural, which isn't what I watch(ed) CPD for. And I'm concerned it might move more and more into becoming just a primetime soap like Fire has become and like Med has always been in so many ways. It will be at that loin that I'll quite likely loose interest. I don't watch Fire anymore and Med I'm not likely to last much longer. That final scene with the guitar playing and the starry eyes might've been the nail in the coffin for me there.**

 **DM me if you want to talk more about my thoughts and/or your thoughts on the series this season. I'm behind on my DM responses (and writing) right now. And I might not truly catch up until into the New Year, but I'll do my best.**


	31. The Best Parts

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank barged around the aisle in the drug store. Magoo had wandered off on him. Apparently got sick of waiting for the pharmacist to call their home pharmacy and get a refill transferred over there and then fucking fill it. Because he'd fucked up. Somehow E's pain meds of choice – the ones that didn't make him a completely loopy space cadet – hadn't made it out of the kitchen cupboard and into the Ziploc bag with the rest of the kid's medications for their trip.

Hank was pretty sure that was because the pill bottle hadn't been up there in the first place. Hoped they were in his boy's school bag. That with the changing seasons and all the aches Magoo was getting lately that he'd sent in the bottle for the nursing station. Was damn sure that they'd sent them in. But kid was insisting he hadn't done that and that the pills weren't in his bag.

They'd see who was right when they got home and dumped out the bag. Wasn't there, he'd be calling the nurse at Ignatius and see if they'd made it to her. She said no and they might have a bit of a problem.

Hank really hoped they didn't have a problem. Didn't want to get into another pill talk with his boy. Had hoped they were well beyond that. That they'd moved past that. That they'd rebuilt their trust. That Magoo had been better educated on his responsibilities around his medications. Especially if he wanted to grow into the right of managing some of them on his own. They couldn't backtrack into the kid refusing to take them. Or the kid deciding they were a fucking good source of income.

But Hank knew with the way Magoo was these days, that he just couldn't be sure. That the kid was having his share of battles and testing of boundaries. Redefining them really. Both with his boy being a teenager now and with them all figuring out how to deal with the trauma the family had been through. That his boy had been through. Their grief and the way they were dealing with all that.

Thing was Hank had actually been starting to feel like he was getting his boy back. Had been starting to feel like the depression medication and the anxiety medication was starting to take hold in his boy's brain. Level things out. Mentally and physically. The emotions weren't as all over the place. Hi boy wasn't just wanting to sleep anymore. Wasn't just looking like some sort of blank-eyed zombie. It was starting to feel less like he'd lost all his kids in one foul swoop there. Was really starting to see his little boy again. Being able to enjoy being around him again. To not just be constantly trying to help his boy keep it together and not go craning over some ledge into the abyss.

Knew a lot of things were contributing to that. Time. Not that four months was enough time – but the initial shock was starting to fade. Maybe the numbness was starting to pass too. Pass enough they could feel a bit more than just numb. That all the talk therapy had done some too. Magoo's one-on-one's with his shrinks and all this family counseling that he'd been making himself participate in. For his kids. For his family. Meds too. As just as he hated putting those kinds of drugs into his little boy when he already had so much medication bombarding his system – they were helping.

Was the little things too. RIC and the staff there. Staff who did a real good job at not just taking care of his boy physically but mentally and emotionally. Staff willing to not just work with his brain injury but help them navigate M.S. too. And willing to help his son wade through all this bullshit their family was dealing with too. Loss and trauma that was way too much of anyone – let alone some kid who hadn't even hit puberty. Didn't matter how resilient kids could be. Magoo's brain just wasn't developed enough – might not ever be – to be able to process all that he had on his plate.

But the Rehab Institute had become a real blessing in their lives. Not just the staff and the medical services they provided. It was the programming too. And the kids. The friends E was making there. The connections.

E needed that. Deserved it. Sure was fuck wasn't getting it at St. Ignatius.

Hank likely should've known. Wasn't like his other two kids had fared much better there. But supposed he thought it'd be different with E. Get him in there before high school. Have him go through middle school with the rest of the little rug rats. Had thought with his learning challenges and delays, he'd end up in smaller classes with the educational aides. That the teachers would be more understanding with him being on the IEP. That the administration wouldn't come down on him quite as hard in their grading and evaluations.

Hadn't quite worked out that way, though. Ignatius was still doing a good job at making his son feel like a failure on a whole lot of levels – socially and academically. There was something to be said for failing. Getting the wind knocked out of your sails some. That was real life. A lesson to be learned. You've got to learn to fall and pick yourself up. But his son had a good idea of all of that. Wasn't asking for his son to just skate through school but wished things could go a little smoother. Because if you get knocked down enough, eventually you just stop pulling yourself up. Didn't need his kid hitting that wall before they went got him into his freshman year of high school. Could do without the battles at home too. At least not as many. Not fucking nightly.

And he was doing without them that weekend. Had decided on his own accord to just say fuck it. Sure. Magoo had assignments and homework sheets and due dates coming up. Was behind on a lot of things. But the reality was E was just ultimately going to be behind. That Voight was sure as fuck that when he went into the parent-teacher meeting about Magoo's less-than-stellar report card next week that the teacher and EA were already going to be dropping hints that he was going to need summer school again if he wanted his son to advance into high school with the rest of his year. So fuck it. They were having a no homework weekend. No battles of the wills. No rising frustration and anger. No fucking glass-eyed stare when his son fought against his frustration with himself and this notion he was stupid and tried to hold back the pending tears about it all.

Hank was pretty fucking sure that most kids – beyond the fucking go-getters and brown-nosers, if there was any real distinction – would be taking a break from all things school over the holiday. So him and his kid were too. He was still working on some reading with his kid. But the homework sheets, the project outlines, the academic calendar, the textbooks – they'd gotten left at home. Hadn't even taken them out of E's bag. They were just going to pretend that none of it fucking existed. For the weekend.

And they both needed that. Really fucking needed that.

Funny thing was that Hank hadn't quite realized how much he needed this weekend too. Had thought he was doing this for his son. But he wasn't. That was becoming real clear. And it was becoming even more clear that after a case like he'd just worked, he needed this even more. Needed it to get his head on straight with everything else that was swirling around in there. Needed it to help him to able to live with himself and the decisions he'd made. Needed it to assure himself that even if maybe he did some things that maybe didn't make his pops proud of him as a cop or a man – that he could at least be proud of him as a father. That he did right there.

Him and Magoo hadn't done much. But had done a whole lot too. Cast some lines. Got out to the observatory. Hadn't seen much and hadn't caught much. It'd been cold and cloudy. But they'd had time together. They'd talked. And not talked. About big things and little things. About girls and puberty. And his brother and his mom. About Eva and the Cubs and baseball. About what he wanted to do at RIC in the winter and which museum club he wanted to continue on with in the New Year. Thought he wanted to give Adler a go this time even though he'd really liked Field and he was torn. About fish and lines and bait. And stars and constellations and rockets and robots. About the movies they were showing at the resort that weekend and the pool. About the food and what he wanted to eat – and how he actually wanted to eat without argument or bribes. About the boardgames in the longue and their credit in the arcade. About his sister and about Jay. About marriage and love. About Olive and Henry. About his damn dog and what the thing might be doing in any particular moment besides licking its dick. About fucking Mission Impossible and James Bond and Sherlock Holmes. About Star Wars and Star Trek, which apparently were real different. Harry Potter. And new movies coming out that he thought he should see. About Florida and Dayton and deep sea fishing and the space center. About dinosaurs and paleontology and dig sites here, there and everywhere. And then they hadn't said a thing too.

Because as much as this whole family counseling thing was teaching Hank to put in more effort to not just tell his kids they could talk to him about anything – but to actually start those conversations. To feed his own lines to make it OK for them to broach the subjects and have those conversations before things got ugly. It was also confirming what he already knew. That a whole lot of parenting was just being there. Showing up. Bearing witness. And listening. Letting them know – see – you're in their corner.

He liked spending time with Magoo. He needed to spend time with Magoo. It leveled him out too. Though, spending time that weekend with him brought about its own sadness and frustrations. Because he saw how his boy motor-mouthed on their observatory tour. Had seen it again on their eco-canopy tour that morning. Saw how science-minded his kid was. How much actually knew and absorbed. And Voight didn't doubt for a second that his boy knew a hell of a lot more on certain subjects that some of the fucking brainiacs in his class did. His boy's smarts just didn't come out of textbooks and they just didn't translate well onto his report cards. And it frustrated the fuck out of him that he couldn't figure out some way in the academic system for that balance out. Because he fucking knew that that disparity was only going to get more glaring after his son was in high school and so much of it was about those fucking grades.

But there was also the sadness there. Because he could see the way his kid's mind worked. Could see the things he was interested in and that he was good at. And knew Cami would've loved interacting with this little growing person. That so many of his interests and his area of knowledge and know-how would've lined up with hers. And she would've so known how to nurture it more than him. How to support him in that. Hank just felt like he was plodding along in the dark. But doing his best to be open-minded and supportive. To understand as best he could and to find opportunities that worked for his boy. To make sure E knew he wasn't stupid. Because the kid was so fucking bright in his own ways. Even though he was a little damaged. Even though he lacked that fucking filter and he had to shush him so he wasn't disturbing the rest of the tour and annoying the fuck out of their poor guides.

But there'd just been real moments of pride too. The whole canopy tour thing had been one. Had really seen the strides Eth had been making in managing his physical health and impediments on that. Had to give a lot of credit to RIC on that – and his physical therapists there. But would give some credit to Halstead too. Or at least thanks. That the guy had made that sacrifice to go and get that piece of paper signed so E had a vet with him so he could get emitted into the rock climbing program. Because could tell it'd been a lot of the skills – and the strength he'd built up in that – that helped his son get through that course. And wouldn't have had that without Halstead.

Still had to call the place when he got him and Magoo all pre-booked on the tour and ask about their "special" tours. See if the fucking place would even be able to accommodate his boy or they'd screen him out on some fucking liability issue. They'd been willing to take him on but did put them on the "special" tour. The one at the crack of dawn to give them lots of extra time. And the one were they assigned an aide to each family in the small group.

Hank had thought about pulling the plug and had seen the group they were put with. One family had a teenaged boy who was Downs Syndrome. The other family had two kids with them and the boy was clearly very austic and not too keen on being there. Really hadn't been sure it was going to be the right fit for them. But E hadn't said a thing about it. Hadn't had any commentary about them being put with the "retards". And the aide assigned to them had been real professional. Not that Magoo had needed a whole lot of help. He needed to stop and rest a few times. Needed some extra help managing his balance across some of the bridges. Needed more time on the steps. But the way his kid had glowed on the short few zips they did during the tour had made up for it. And the giant smile his kid had when they got to that last one, zipping back to the homebase at about 40 miles an hour over 1,200 feet. Made it all worth it.

Had so been worth it to hear his boy rattling stuff off about the ecology of the area to the conservation guide who'd been with the group of them too. Things the kid was asking. Questions he was asking. Almost thought the kid knew more about the area – or ecology and biology, in general – than the guide they had giving them the spiel. Funny. Just so fucking funny what his kid retained. Saw it out while they were fishing too. Camille would've loved that. She came through in him so much.

Voight liked getting his boy out to Lake Geneva. Really liked it. Real calm washed over him. Real happiness. That was likely his mom too. Just getting him outdoors. Eth needed that. Thrived in it. Had been doing his best to get him out to the pier and to some of the fishing spots around the city lately too. Needed to keep it up. Seemed to help with the leveling process. Maybe with the connection process too. Sharing space and time together that wasn't arguing about homework or him eating his dinner. Time that wasn't just staring at the TV. They needed that. Things like that was what mattered. Be what built their relationship. What kept them together. Functional. So he was making time for that too.

Cami always liked coming out to Lake Geneva in the fall too. Earlier than this. A colors drive. Sometimes an overnight. Likely do some fishing then too. Picnic. Get the kiddos out of the concrete. She'd get a real kick out of Magoo still wanting to come out this way. For now. Though, seemed like the for now would be a little longer. Kid was already talking like it was a foregone conclusion that he'd be dragging him back out there in the winter for another ice fishing outing. Had noticed the schedule for the various special activities weekend at the resort. Lego, Science, Art. Seemed pretty interested in the first two. Though, Hank thought he'd favor a getaway that wasn't set up to attract extra people. Definitely a different vibe at The Abbey this time around with it being the holiday weekend. Lots of activity and activities. Clearly a family tradition for some and a real getaway spot. Sort of nice in some ways but liked it being quieter. Having the place to themselves.

But for any of that to happen, was going to have to hope this whole pill thing got resolved in a way that didn't end up in that his boy was lying to his face. Was going to hope that the pill bottle might've just been left up on the counter in the can.

Erin had a bad habit of not putting his meds back if she had to dose him upstairs. Eth was even worse about it. And if he did try to put them – or some other med – back up in that top cupboard himself, he might've just pushed that one back and knocked it out of his site when he was pulling down the basket that contained his personalized pharmacy.

Either way – they'd figure it out when they got home. Would give the kid the benefit of the doubt for now.

And for now, they had restocked their supply to get Magoo through the next few days until they got back home.

So now he just needed to find his kid, who'd apparently gotten bored with the lengthy back-and-forth between the pharmacies and then doing all the usual personal details to get a script account set up at that dispensary. Apparently it was too much to ask for one of the other people behind the counter to start working on filling the script while they did that too.

So now 30 minutes later he was trying to locate what the hell E had found to look at in the pharmacy that was any more interesting than sitting in the pharmacist waiting area and playing with the BP machine and looking at dated magazines.

Came flying around the one aisle and finally spot his boy. Up starring at a little spinning display of costume jewelry. Relieved to see that. Had near been through the entire store and was starting to get pissed. Starting to think his boy had really wandered off. There were some other shops on the main strip the kid wanted to look at. Toy store, comic store, record store. He'd already said no since the kid was clearly fading and he wanted to get him back to the hotel for a rest after their zipline adventure. Wasn't going to be happy if his son had decided to leave the pharmacy and go look at them on his own while he waited – no without telling him that was the plan.

But there he was. Kid had listened.

Hank started to move toward him. Moving through the little seasonal display the pharmacy had set up. Couldn't get through one holiday without the next taking over. Christmas since Halloween. Really more like Christmas since fucking September. But seemed more in your face this year. Likely just another year he was more aware of it, though. Happened. Felt that way the first year Camille was gone too. And the next. And the next and next. Supposed that really didn't change.

He might like to get his Christmas shopping out of the way months in advance. But would prefer not to have the holiday smack in his face for months in advance.

Still, couldn't help but give it a glance as he was walking by. Slowed his step and stared at what his eyes had landed on. Grabbed the box and tucked it under his arm along with the polysporin, Band-Aids and Vapo Rub he'd also picked up in the store. E wasn't complaining but he'd done a good job at scrapping himself up some on their tour. Better safe than sorry with infection with him. And the cleaning supplies, chlorine in the pool and the time they were spending outside in the cold seemed to have his son sniffling again. So was going to see if putting him down for his afternoon rest with a layer of Vapo Rub smeared on him calmed that a bit. Didn't want to get into another fucking cold when they'd barely gotten him rebounded from the fucking pneumonia in October. Just dragged and dragged on and on. Fantastic. Especially when in the midst of it all, comes out that complications in pneumonia are one of the fucking leading causes of death in people with M.S. There was a great way to send his own blood pressure and anxiety about the whole thing through the roof. Not words he needed to fucking hear while talking about his youngest. Not now. Not ever.

E glanced up at him when he reached his side and held up a little box at him. Costume jewelry. Didn't entirely look like crap. Didn't look half bad. At least it was sparkly. Whatever that counted for – when it wasn't diamonds or gold.

"Shopping for Eva?" he put to his son, adjusting his beanie down over his ear and scar again. E hadn't been complaining about the cold either. Kept wanting to go outside. Cast a line. Look at the lake. Go to the bonfire. But it was definitely getting into a Midwest winter at that point. Leaves were gone. Skies were grey. And frost most mornings. Still getting rain but there'd been some snow. Only a matter of time until there was more – and more that stayed on the ground.

His son's face, though, looked surprised. Clearly hadn't been considering that at all as he gazed at the jewelry. His eyes moved back to the little necklace and earring set he had in his hand. Big sign on the top of the display indicated the sets were all of ten bucks. Not exactly high quality. But who fucking went to the pharmacy to buy their jewels?

"Her birthday's soon," Eth said, again giving the set careful consideration.

Hank grunted. It was. Real soon. Couple weeks. A party the kid had actually gotten an invite to. Though, wasn't much of a party. But was party enough.

Girl's dad had actually gestured him out on the stoop one evening when he'd come to pick up his daughter. Hank had thought it might be some sort of father-to-father watch your son chat. Was usually Eva's older brother that came and retrieved the girl. Hadn't been though.

Guy had just rather matter-of-factly let him know that Eva's birthday was coming up. That Eva wanted to spend it with some of her friends. That didn't have the means to be doing anything too big or special. So he was just wondering if Ethan was going to be at the Rehab Center's holiday party. Because the plan was to use that as part of Eva's party and then he was going to take her and a few of her buddies and her brothers out for a donut at some joint near the center after. Knew Eth had dietary issues. Had checked and the place had vegan shit. Was wondering if that'd work and if Magoo could tag along. That Eva would really like him there.

Couldn't say no to that. Had to respect that. They'd figure it out. Or he'd have a talk with Magoo about going and being there for his friend – not getting his shorts in a knot about not being able to have much more than a glass of water at the little gathering after the party. Knew Magoo didn't much like that but also knew that his boy was starting to accept that that was some times just a fact of life unless he wanted to risk flaring up some of his symptoms or worse. He was usually pretty good about it. Was something he was accepting he had to be responsible for and accountable for and manage himself too. Dad and Erin couldn't always be there telling him what to eat. Could pack him a lunch or order a special diet meal for him to be ready in the cafeteria but if he went and got himself junk food, candy and a Coke out of the vending machine during school hours – that was his choice and responsibility. He'd have to deal with the consequences. But he was starting to get most of the time the consequences weren't worth it and it had implications for the whole family that didn't make him or his sister too happy either.

Truth was E was excited enough to be invited. Didn't seem to much care he was just being invited to the holiday party at RIC. Didn't seem to have registered that he probably would've paid his registration fee anyways even if it wasn't doing double-duty as Eva's birthday too. Though, with it being the holiday party and the activities and theme the fee attached to it was a bit more than some events. Likely would've made E pay for it on his own if it hadn't been the girl's birthday. But had just signed the form and handed him the cash without comment to take in.

Some damn Mystery at the Ugly Sweater party thing combined with a gingerbread house decorating party combined with the Christmas party that they were being all P.C. about and labeling it as a holiday party thing. Whatever. Sounded like a bit of a mishmash. But a lot of RIC was that. Always trying to have something for everyone seeing as they had folks from all over from all backgrounds and kids with all kinds of issues they were trying to move on from. Rehabilitate.

And it didn't much matter what he thought about this latest party at the center. Reality was Eva was excited about. Evan was excited about it. And Ethan was excited about it. Three of them were just waiting to get their assigned characters and lines or clues or whatever the fuck it was that this party was handing out. So let the kids be excited. Happy. That was all that mattered. These kids needed that. Deserved it. Not just his. Eva and Evan had their own challenges too and deserved these good times and fun times to look forward to. Most of the kids you encountered at RIC did.

Liked Eva, though. Liked what she'd done for his son. Knew she'd been another one of the things that had helped level his boy out that fall. Stabilize him. And even though Hank wasn't interested in drawing too many comparisons, and sure didn't want anything between two thirteen year olds moving too fast, he knew what having that kind of support had done for him when Cami had stepped up – been there for him – after his dad had died. You needed that when you were a kid and things like that happened. Needed someone your age to talk to. Not all these fucking adults talking at you and telling you it was going to be OK or to grow up or man up.

Eva was a good kid. Her family was good people. Didn't know the full story but had pieced together enough. That Eva had ended up with bone cancer. Lost her leg. Sick kid in the hospital. Mom and Dad stressed out. Three other kids at home. Boys. And with all of it they'd taken their eyes off the other kids some. Knew how that was. Knew what it was like and knew the possible outcomes. Though, their outcome had been far worse. Their oldest boy got wrapped up with the wrong people and in the wrong things and they'd lost him in the process. Sounded like that was about the point that the mom had checked out. Just couldn't cope with a sick kid and that loss. And the placed blame and self-blame in all of it.

Got the impression was still in town. Somewhere. That sometimes she showed up still. Got that sense two that when she did show up it upset and disrupted the kids – and that was to be expected too. Knew that he could almost pick out times the woman had decided to make an appearance because Eva would seem off or E would report that Eva seemed upset at him or short with him and he didn't know why. But Hank knew why. Knew what those kinds of situations and environments did to kids. Knew too that you wanted to think that parents – especially mothers – were better than that. That they didn't leave their kids. That they knew they needed to look after their kids and look out for them – especially when one of them was sick and all of them had just lost an older brother. But that wasn't the way it worked. Had a daughter at home that was proof of that. Had dealt with a whole lot of kids and families over his career that proved that life wasn't like that. It wasn't some TV family drama. No sitcom. Not Family Ties or Family Matter or Brady Bunch. People were just fucked up.

Eva was lucky, though, in that she had other good people around her. The one brother she still did have ahead of her seemed like a good kid. Senior in high school. Played ball. Trying to get into college. Just in the city by the sounds of it from the few conversations he'd had with the kid when he was picking up the girl. Had a younger brother too that she seemed pretty attached to. Or at least hadn't heard anything too bad about beyond the usual little brother annoyances. And knew her dad worked for the CTA. Pulled long shifts and worked strange hours. But Hank knew what that was like too. And knew the reality that the guy was just trying to provide for his family with a lot of mouths to still feed at home. With a kid wanting to go to college. Another kid who had medical expenses. And knew too that a whole lot of decisions came with a kid with medical expenses. Didn't matter how good your benefits or your union was. There were going to be things that weren't covered. Going to be choices you had to make. Things your family did without. Things that got put off. So you could deal with other things. So you could make sure that sick kid got opportunities to live their life. And live the most normal and fulfilling life that you could manage to set the foundation for for them.

Hank respected that. Hadn't had a lot of interaction with him. But seemed plain and straight forward. A hard worker. Committed family man. Just trying to do right by his kids. Take care of them the best he could. And trying to figure out how to raise a daughter among boys and do it pretty much alone too. Voight had some understanding what that was like too. And at least he'd had Camille while they were raising Erin. Probably wouldn't have known how to do it if he was stuck with a teenaged girl on his own. Girls. Different than boys. Boys were hard enough. Fathers and sons.

Eva never spoke a word bad about his father to him. Said something because that little thing was her own motor-mouth. She was just piss and vinegar. But Hank liked that. Knew how to deal with that. Reminded him a whole lot of someone he knew. Someone he'd raised. Little thing didn't mind giving him sass and telling him how she thought things were. Had told him he was too strict. Had told him that puzzles and boardgames were definitely not the same as videogames. Had told him that he should let Magoo watch this and that and the other thing – because they weren't so bad. Didn't think twice about telling him just how she felt about a whole lot. But she did it with Eth too. Told E when he was being lazy or whiney or wasn't acting his age or was being an ass – sometimes a fucking stubborn one - or an annoying dick. And E listened to her a whole lot better than he did Hank sometimes. Different hearing it out of your own peers.

So he was pretty appreciative of having Eva in his life. Evan too. Nice little group he'd settled into.

"I guess I should likely get her something for her birthday," E muttered, gazing at that necklace.

Hank gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "Probably," he agreed. "She brought something over for you on your thirteenth."

E nodded and kept looking at it. "But this is kinda boyfriend-girlfriend-y. And we're just friends."

He grunted again. He was fine with that. Would be happy they stayed in that zone for a good long while. But if this friendship kept up, figured it was only a matter of time before they were more than friends. Just had to hope that it wasn't some kind of love triangle that happened. Though, sort of suspected if it was a love triangle that developed, wasn't going to be Eva that the boys were fighting over. Got the sense it might be Magoo that Eva and Evan had a bit of a spat over. Not that it would be much of a spat since he was pretty certain what team Magoo played for. Him and Evan might make a good team out on the ball diamond but weren't ever going to be pitcher and catcher in anything other than that ballgame. So might end up dealing with some different kind of drama than a fucking teen-aged love triangle. Territory Hank hadn't had to venture into before with either of his other kids. Sort of hoped that it'd mostly just be confusion on how to handle the situation out of Magoo and that it'd be Evan's mom dealing with any heartbreak there. Or that Erin would know how to navigate this kind of thing. And be willing to. Or that his whole gaydar was way off. Could be that too. Either way, he was pretty sure that Evan hadn't yet realized or at least wasn't ready to admit it to himself or come out of the closet publicly yet.

E shook the little box again. "I thought Erin might like it," he said carefully. "For Christmas?"

Hank gave him a thin smile at that. Was kinda of cute. Made him a little sad again too. Magoo was definitely at that age where he thought that getting the girls – women – in his life jewelry was the thing to do. Hadn't quite clued into the fact that the price-tag and quality of jewelry came into play a bit with adult women. He was still that cute little boy wanting to get any kind of gaudy necklace or giant hoop earrings. He'd be picking them out for Cami if she were there. Instead it was picking them out for Erin. Though, he'd admit even though Voight figured the necklaces Erin had around her neck and studs in her ears had a higher price tag than what E was looking at her, the little set did look like something she'd wear. But E was good at that. Observing. Listening. He knew the people around him he cared about. Real well. It was another thing he retained.

"Told ya I didn't really want you spending more than about ten, fifteen bucks on anyone these holidays, Magoo," he told him gently. "Thought that counts. Not the price tag."

E stared at it. "It's only ten dollars," he said.

Hank gave a little nod. "Know. But, you know, what you'd said you wanted to look in that record store for your sister."

E cast him those eyes of his. Cami's eyes. Those fucking eyes that were going to follow him and haunt him for the days he had left on Earth. "You said we'd look later," his boy provided.

Grunted. "If you think you're doing alright, could go peek in it. But don't want to be going in and out of all the shops, Magoo. Want to get you some rest so you can enjoy the rest of the day. Rest of the weekend."

Kid had already said he wanted to get out to fish again that day. Didn't know if that was going to happen by the time they got back to the hotel and he got the kid to lie flat for a bit. But was going to have to force him to slow down and listen to his body a bit. Could see the fatigue and some pain in his movements after the canopy tour. Erin and Jay were supposed to be coming in for the day tomorrow. Had been talk about taking the kid to finally do that paintball outing that'd been promised. Needed to rest him up if that was going to happen. Wasn't sure he'd be up to it after today's outing. And wasn't sure he'd sign of on it if it was raining like the forecast was saying either. But wasn't about to disclose that to the kid. Would deal with it when it happened – if it did. Weathermen didn't know shit half the time.

Kid still kept looking at the thing a little forlornly. Wasn't too ready to put it down. "Lots of record shops back home too," Hank provided. "And still got a few weeks until Christmas."

"She likely has everything she wants from the ones at home," E said. "She goes all the time."

He nodded. "But sure you know everything she's got in her collection and doubt she'd turn down a new record."

Those eyes again. It was true, though. Eth's minds when it came to collections. Inventories. Knew his boy likely had a better idea of every last album – if not artist and song – even better than Erin did. Just how his mind worked. Yet another fucking way it got frustrating he could be so smart in some ways – know so fucking much. But they had to drag him through the educational system.

"Haven't gotten out to the Christmas Market yet either," Hank said. Since Cami had been gone if he'd even bothered to go it was for the food and beer. But Magoo being home had gotten him back into actually making a circuit and looking at the stalls – and then getting his German food fix. "That's where you found her gift last year."

"A necklace," E said and looked at the set again. "She liked it."

"Did," Hank agreed. "But maybe you want to get her something else this year. She's got a fiancée to be buying her jewelry now."

E let out a little sigh at that and still looked at it. "But I think she'd like it."

Hank shrugged. "Up to you," he acknowledged.

And he didn't doubt his girl would like it. The reality was whatever E got her she'd smile and give him a hug and tell him thank you. Knew that this set she'd find cute. That she'd put it on a few times for Eth's sake. That she'd be appreciative. So it didn't much matter what E got her. Erin too knew it wasn't about the gift. It was about the thought and having the people in your life that thought of you.

He pulled the box out from under his arm and held it out to the boy in some form of distraction. "You see this?" he asked of the Hot Wheels advent calendar he'd spotted. Apparently advent calendars weren't just for waxy chocolate anymore.

E's eyes moved to it. Giving it a bit of an examination. Downcast enough that Hank couldn't quite read them.

"What you think?" he pressed. "Too old for an advent calendar?"

E's eyes gazed up at him again with that. Some excitement flickered through them but there was hesitation. "We've got Mom's advent calendars at home …"

Hank shrugged and looked at the box himself, flipping it over. "Sure," he acknowledged. "Will pull them out. But they aren't Hot Wheels."

Magoo nudged toward him and the box, gazing at the back too. "Does it say which ones are in it?"

"Think there's supposed to be part of the surprise or something," Hank said. Back of the box didn't say much. Just more tacky illustrations.

E's eyes took it in and then shifted up to him. "Does it mean I wouldn't get a diecast in my stocking? Because it's tradition to get one in my stocking."

Hank gave him a sad smile at that, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. Everything was about tradition lately. And as a father – in a broken family – it was hard to hear. Hard to keep living out these traditions when more and more people weren't there to be a part of them.

"Think Santa's elves would likely still find a way to get a diecast in your stocking," Hank allowed.

Eth looked at him. But there wasn't the protest he expected. The one where he reminded him that he was thirteen. Told him again that he hadn't believed in Santa for years. That he was too old for all this Santa and elves and North Pole and reindeer and sleigh ride and Night Before Christmas crap. That he just tolerated the fantasy for ol' Dad's sake and to get that extra present on Christmas morning. But Hank supposed he didn't expect that protest this year either. Because Santa – the present, the stocking – that was tradition too. And that's what Magoo wanted. So they'd pretend again for another year.

That he'd try to make that day a month down the road normal. When it was going to be anything but it. When Christmas had been hard enough to get through. And when he didn't really want to face it that year. But that he was going to have to. Just like he had every year since Cami was gone and he still had kids at home. It was different this year, though. Harder.

"Maybe Henry would like it," E said in his careful examination of the box.

Gave his boy's shoulder another little squeeze. Missing J that weekend was hard enough. Missing Henry was a whole different matter. One that wasn't necessary. But had been what had been handed to them. And it was what it was. Though, he'd had to listen to Magoo talk a lot about their last Thanksgiving down on base. J showing off the house and the baby. His wife and family. The life he was establishing. And the pride his son had had. The pride Hank had had in him. And none of them had fucking known then that it was going to be a one time thing. First and last.

"Think he's still a little young for an advent calendar, Magoo," Hank told him. "Wouldn't really grasp it."

But his kid looked up at him with those gentle thoughtful eyes. "We could likely make him one, Dad. With some of J's Hot Wheels. It'd be like a parking garage. And he'd get to take one of his dad's cars out every day."

And Hank just squeezed at his boy's shoulder tighter, tucking the box back under his arm. Because E had earned that little prize. More than earned those twenty-four surprise cars to add to his collection. Especially if he was willing to give away – give to H, twenty-four of the coveted ones from his brother that lined his bookshelf.

"Know you're one of the best people I know, right?" Hank put to him, making sure to really catch his eyes. Giving him a real firm nod.

"You tell me that a lot, Dad …," E allowed.

"Mmm …," Hank grunted. "Because it's the truth." And he gave him a little nudge. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get through cash and get you home."

Get him home. Keep him home. Just hold on to him. That's all he could hope for. It was the best he was trying to do. Because that boy – all his kids – they were the best things he'd done. Biggest thing that could make him proud. Hoped they were something that was making his own dad proud somewhere too.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews and feedback are much appreciated.**


	32. Launching Point

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin twisted the key in the lock of her condo and gave Olive another glance as she pushed the door open.

"Heat's not really on, so it's likely going to be cold," she warned again.

Henry had already been crying down on the street with the wind in his face. The toddler wasn't exactly used to late-fall in the Windy City. And being that close to the lake, the building definitely got its share of wind. Especially when Olive had apparently gotten there before her – Erin got the sense it was well before her – and had been standing out front with Henry waiting.

"That's OK …," Olive allowed quietly.

She wasn't saying much. She was being even more quiet and soft spoken than usual. Timid really. Though the woman always had some timidness about her. And usually Erin accepted that. She could kind of understand where that was coming from – given the situation and what Olive had landed herself in with getting pregnant with Justin's baby and suddenly becoming an honorary member of the Voight family. Joining most families would be nerve wrecking enough, Erin imagined. But landing in their family – her former family – wasn't exactly ideal. It wasn't like they were the warmest or most welcoming people.

It might've been different if Camille was still there. Though, Camille did a good job at making sure you knew when she didn't like you either. And, Erin wasn't sure how much Camille would've liked Olive in the beginning. Not with memories of her from high school years. And Camille wouldn't have been thrilled at the pregnancy out of wedlock. Not when Justin and Olive weren't in an established relationship. It would've taken her a while to warm up to Olive and to the situation. Though, Erin didn't doubt that she would've, especially as soon as she got Henry in her arms.

But all that had been before and this was now. And now was different. Now any nervousness Olive had was of her own making. Because she might've been doing what she felt was best for her and for Henry. But in the process she'd hurt all of them more than they were hurting. And Erin knew whatever was going on now – when it got back to Hank, and if it got back to Ethan – was going to hurt them again. Because she was here – in the city – and they weren't. They'd gone away to try to find their own stability and distraction – to cope in their own ways and to try to create some memories and traditions of their own – because she'd insisted right down to the final second that she wasn't coming back to Chicago.

But here she was.

And it stung Erin too. It made her anger.

But Erin was trying to bite her tongue – about a lot. Months' worth of commentary. Maybe years. Because she knew if she opened that faucet she might not be able to close it. And if that happened, then Olive might disappear into the woodwork again. As quickly and as easily as she'd seemingly appeared – two years ago, and again now.

It was pissing her off, though. There was so much she wanted to say. Even more that she wanted to ask. And Olive was giving her nothing. And acting like this should all just be accepted at face value. When it was clear they were both pussy footing around. Walking on eggshells.

But she held the door open for Olive to carry Henry inside.

He was still sniffling from his wails a bit but had calmed. Though, so far Olive hadn't let Erin hold him. Hadn't put him down. But that hadn't stopped Erin from stroking her finger down his cheek and talking at him. Telling him how much she missed him and how glad she was to see him. Telling him not to cry. Using talking to a sixteen month old as a vehicle to express anything to Olive. Telling him it was going to be OK. Hoping she wasn't lying to him. Because he hadn't just grown since she last saw him – he also looked sadder. His eyes had changed. Like they'd grown as weary as those around him.

She flicked on the lights as they got in. The place wasn't as cold as she thought it might be. It would be claiming the heat from the units on their side of her. Above and below too. But it wasn't the usual toasty she kept it.

She breezed passed Olive and the baby, while the woman bounced him against her hip, still trying to keep him calm. To keep him from fussing again. Erin got the sense that Henry might fuss a lot anymore. But maybe that happened when you hadn't just lost your dad but your whole life suddenly got uprooted and turned around and you were too little to understand why or cope with any of it. To express it or ask questions. All you knew how to do was cry. He wasn't even babbling the way he had been in the summer. Just a teary little boy.

Erin got to the blinds and pulled them open. Letting the bit of light from the grey day and the already setting sun come into the room. Taking in the view that had once been hers – that was one of the things she did miss about the place. There definitely wasn't much to look at out the windows of the townhouse. Even out on their terrace. The park. More townhouses. That was about it.

"It's really nice …," Olive said carefully, following her into the living space. Looking down on her feet like she thought she should take off her boots. But Erin didn't really see the point.

Erin nodded but just gestured at the empty room. "So if you're looking for a place to stay tonight, this isn't really it," she said. She thought that was obvious but sometimes it felt like Olive could be dense. "But we've got a room at the townhouse …"

Olive shook her head and finished coming over to the window, gazing out of it too. Off toward the lakeshore. The park across the street. Lake Michigan in sight.

"I just … wanted to see. I can stay with my aunt tonight," she said and Erin stared at her. She tried not to glare at her. But she knew she was. "Is that Soldier Field?" she asked near putting her forehead against the window.

Erin nodded. "Yea …," she allowed.

Olive quietly mouthed a 'wow' and let Henry squirm down her body, settling him on the ground but still keeping a hold of his hands. But he fussed some and Erin held out her hand and Olive finally let him go. The toddler toddling over to where she'd leaned her shoulder against the window and she squatted down to him him a smile. He almost smiled at her, flailing his arms in her direction. She grabbed his hands and turned him toward the window too.

"See the lake, Henry?" she whispered at him, pointing out the glass. "In the summer, you'll see lots of boats. All right there." She moved her finger a bit. "And that building? That's the museum. And that's the planetarium. And your uncle loves both those places," she told the boy quietly, casting Olive a look.

She'd crossed her arms as she gazed out the window. Erin could tell she was pretending not to listen to her babbling at Henry – but she was hearing anyway. And Erin again used it to talk through Henry. To try to talk some sense to her.

"Your Uncle Magoo is in a museum club right now and he goes every Wednesday night and has so much fun," she said, giving Henry a bit of a tickle. "But he likes going there all the time. He'd live right there on Northerly Island if he could. So I know if his favorite nephew was living right here, he'd be wanting to come over and visit you all the time and take you down the street to all those places. I know he begged to go over to the museums whenever he visited me when I lived here. But he'll like going with you better. Because he's going to want you to meet his friend Sue the Tyrannosaurs," Erin smiled at Henry and stroked her finger down his nose. It got a smile – a little gap toothed one. "She's got big teeth too," she said, pressing her finger slightly into his dimple. He giggled. "But she's not so scary."

Erin moved her finger again and tapped on the glass. "And that there, if you twist your head just like this," she added and skewed her head, making a silly face at him that made him smile even more. "That's the aquarium. Your grandma liked taking us there when we were little. Especially your daddy and your uncle. They just loved it. Ad your grandma just loved fish. She could tell you EVERYTHING about fish. Your Uncle Ethan will try to too. Maybe Popa. But you can just tell them to be quiet. Because you don't want to hear them jabbering when there's so much to do and look at there. So many fish, Henry! And reefs and frogs and penguins. You'll love it. There's even some touch tanks. Your Uncle Magoo just loved that when he was little like you. Yike," she said and shook his hands. "Slimy hands."

He slapped at her hands and she held them up instead. He immediately gave her a high five. "Good job, buddy," she smiled. "You going to let me give you one?"

He gazed at her. So she took his little hand. Holding it in hers and tapped her palm against his. "Low five!" she told him. He flailed his arms and hands again and she put her palms back up. He hit against them again. "High ten!" she smiled at him and then gave him another gentle shake. "We'll just make sure your Uncle Ethan doesn't start teaching you exploding hands because that's just not Auntie Erin's thing. We might not be able to be friends if you start doing that. So silly," she smiled at him and leaned in giving him a little kiss and whispering at him again how much she'd missed him.

She rose back to full height as Henry kept looking at the window. More like beating his hands against them and getting his little boy handprints all over the clean glass. But maybe she'd like to have the mark of his presence there if this didn't go the way she'd like. If this request to look at the condo made even less sense than it already made.

"There's lots of park space there around the Museums' Campus," Erin told Olive more directly. "That's Mark Twain Park just across the street from the building."

Olive nodded ever so slightly. "We saw. There's a playground."

Erin ran her hand through her hair and looked at the woman again. "The area's really developing," she said. "There's a lot of young professionals having kids at this point."

Olive stared out the window. "They must have good jobs to be able to afford here …"

Erin sighed and put more weight against her shoulder as she leaned into the window. "Olive, right now I'm paying for it anyway. If this is something you're seriously considering, I already told you, we can work something out."

The woman gave her a sad glance. "I looked up the rental costs around here after you gave me the address," she near whispered.

"You won't be renting," she put to her firmly. "You'll be subletting from your sister-in-law. After you get back on your feet. Don't worry about what the cost of rent is in the area."

Olive's arms wrapped around herself tighter. "I can't afford here," she said. "And the families in the park … I don't know if we fit in—"

"You'll be fine," Erin interrupted that thought. That excuse.

Olive gave her a glance. "It's only one bedroom …"

Erin shrugged and gestured her into the bedroom, taking Henry's hand as she wandered over and looked somewhat forlornly inside.

"It's a pretty big room," Erin said even though Olive looked like she didn't want to go in the door.

She was pretty sure while Henry was still little there wouldn't be too much problem with fitting a double bed and a toddler bed in the room. Not exactly great for privacy or alone time but beggars couldn't be choosers. A lot of people had to make do with fewer rooms than there were people. She'd dealt with it growing up. It sounded like Jay had too, at least in sharing with his brother. And with the Voights, Hank and Camille had had Eth in their room until he was almost two before moving him into Justin's bedroom. Everyone just dealt with the situation as best they could.

Still she gestured back into the living space. "I had a roommate for a year," she said, though it was hard to think of the time she'd shared space with Nadia. "How we did it was having a pullout in the living room. It worked."

Olive gave a little nod again.

"It should be fine at least for a year or two," Erin pressed. Olive gave her a sad look. "Do you want to see the kitchen and bathroom?" she tried instead.

Olive just shrugged. "I appreciate you coming over to show us the place but I didn't realize just … how new … and nice this area is … and I just—"

"Olive," Erin pressed at her. "I am paying for the place right now. At this point I'm not going to bother to put it on the market until likely March. Someone might as well be using it while I'm dumping money into it. Do you need a place to stay?" she pushed at her.

Olive sighed and looked away, bending and scooping up Henry again as he toddled into the room. He seemed way more interested in the bedroom than her. But, Erin supposed that was good. It'd likely be his, if Olive did want to use the place. Though, he seemed pretty fascinated with the harsh brick wall by the window. That actually might not be that toddler friendly, even if the texture was attractive to the eyes and little boy hands.

"Olive," Erin sighed out her own frustration, crossing her arms and purposely blocking the doorway – keeping her trapped in the bedroom. "What's going on? You told Hank you weren't going to come up this weekend."

Olive gazed at the floor. "I wasn't going to," she admitted quietly after a long silence. "But I needed out of there. And I just started driving. And then I kept driving," she shrugged, meeting her eyes.

"Are you staying?" Erin asked.

Olive let out a slow breath and let Henry slide back down her hip to the floor. The little boy charged toward the closet, opening the door and looking at the empty insides. He stepped in, pulling the door shut but then hit it – sending it flying and smiling at them.

"Boo!" Erin smiled back at him, arching her eyebrow.

He grined and grabbed the door again, pulling it close and peeking around the edge. Erin tilted her head to catch his eyes and he pulled back a bit more, giving her a little giggle as he tried to hide. She snorted mild amusement but shifted her eyes back to Olive again – making them more pointed and serious.

The door banged again as Henry jumped out. Erin allowed her eyes to go back again.

"Peek-a-boo!" she told him and he giggled even more, grabbing the door to close it to hide again and she again shifted her accusation to Olive. Because how could she just bring this for a nonsense visit and then leave. How could she bring this to her and not let Hank and Ethan share in it – even if it was just for a twenty minute nonsense visit.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Olive said softly.

Erin huffed out more annoyance and shifted her eyes to look out the windows, running her hand through her hair again to try to calm herself. To try to keep herself from really snapping at her. From pushing her away. From telling her she wasn't going to help her at her own expense when she was going to be like this. When she was hurting people this much.

"It's just like … my sister is … trying to make me live a life … be this person that I thought I wasn't anymore," Olive said quietly.

Erin moved her eyes to her sternly. "Then come home, Olive," she pressed. "You have support here. You have people here who will help you and support you. Who will help you be the person you want to be and help you raise Henry the way you want to raise him."

"I just don't know if I can be here yet," Olive said, her eyes looking glassy.

"You're here, Olive," Erin spat at her and then gestured around the room and out the window. "Here is not Pilsen. It's not the Near West. It's not where you grew up. It's not where Justin grew up. Those people out there – this neighborhood, the other parents – you'll be a single mom working in the medical field."

"I'm not, though," Olive said. "I do manicures and pedicures. I sell lotion and creams."

"No," Erin said sternly. "That's Scottsdale. Here you're going to finish you're training. You're going to do your placement. And you're going to get a job at a hospital or a clinic doing physical therapy. Like you wanted. Like you planned. It's what you'll be to the people here. That's all anyone around here needs to know. And it's something that people here can help you be. If that's still what you want."

Olive just stared at her more, looking like she wanted to cry. And then she startled as Henry bashed the door open again and giggled at his mom's reaction.

Erin allowed him a thin smile. Though, she was pretty sure the startle had really near drawn tears from Olive. "It's not nice to scare people, Henry," she chastised ever so lightly. So lightly that he grabbed the door to pull in front of his face again and again gave her a toothy grin around the corner. She allowed him a bit more of a smile but moved her eyes again back to Olive. She was near trembling in her efforts not to cry in front of her.

"Does Hank know you're here?" Erin put to her.

She didn't want to deal with her tears. She didn't want to try to comfort her. She was already doing more than her share. And what she was doing wasn't for Olive. Not right now. Olive was going to have to earn that. That was going to take time. Camille had taught her that you didn't have to be kind or forgiving from the get-go. But you could still make sacrifices – for the people important to you. Ethan and Henry.

"I went over to the house but …" she shrugged. Her shoulders shook with it in her continued struggle to not cry.

"He took Eth to Lake Geneva. He must've told you that," Erin said with some tone. Olive gave her a look. Sad. Defeated. "Jay and I are going out there tomorrow, we can drive—"

"I'm not sure if I should see him," Olive said.

"Olive," Erin spat at her, shooting daggering. "You will destroy him if he finds out you were here with Henry and he didn't get to see you both."

"I just think it might be best if he didn't know I was in town," Olive struggled to get out.

And Erin shook with her own anger and really did glare at her while she struggled to keep her tone in check, but she knew it wasn't going to.

"Olive," she hissed. "It was Justin not telling his dad he was in town and why – you supporting him in that lie, to Hank's face – that got all of us here in the first place."

A tear trickled down Olive's cheek at that and she turned to gaze out the window, wiping at her face, trying to hide that she'd been brought to tears.

Erin went and stood next to her – looking out at the edge of the city that maybe she'd tried to escape too. That maybe getting on the lake's edge and in a new development so different from anywhere she'd grown-up was as close as she'd got.

But maybe it'd been change enough that it'd helped her find her feet. To start her life as an adult, as a cop, as a detective, as whatever that person she was had grown into. Maybe it hadn't been entirely who she was or who she wanted to be. Because maybe Jay was right. As much as this place was her – it was also the her she'd been trying to present herself as. It was an optical illusion. It was still that insecurity in her that was trying to impress people who didn't need to be impressed anymore. People she didn't need to keep up with. A life that maybe she hadn't been entirely meant to have either.

But it'd been a base to grow. To find out how she wanted to live her life. Who she wanted to be. A home base to grow into that. A place where she finished her twenties and started her thirties. Where she'd gone through her own ups and downs and experienced her own setbacks and losses. But a place where she'd made memories and she'd moved forward. Where she'd grown with Jay and grown her family and figured out some things about life and love and adulthood. And the woman she really wanted to be and the places she needed to be to be able to do that. This condo – it'd been a launching point to take her first steps. And it could be that for Olive too. For Henry.

"You have no idea what you and Henry being away is doing to Ethan and Hank," Erin said carefully, though she still felt her anger bubbling. Olive gave her a sideways glance and swiped at her eyes. "Being away from you. From Henry. It's all they have left of Justin, Olive. Of Camille. They need you here. Henry here. And I think you need them too."

"I don't know … if I can handle it," Olive mumbled. "Them. Chicago …"

And Henry again popped out of the closet with a BANG! The door flying open and again Olive jumped slightly at the window.

"Ooooo!" Henry managed that time.

Erin looked over her shoulder and smiled, going across the room and picking him up, bouncing him on her hip.

"Peek-a-boo!" she reaffirmed to him and carried him over to his mom. "Sometimes you've got to embrace the things that scare you," she said and handed him over to his mom who nuzzled her cheek against his, still trying to hide the slow trickle of tears that were slipping out.

Henry gazed at her, patting at her cheeks. "Ma! Ma! Noo," he said, nuzzling his face into hers and pulling at her hair like he was trying to stroke it – even though he was tugging at it. Like somehow he was trying to tell his mom it was OK to cry but that he didn't really want her to.

Erin looked at them. "This can be a fresh start, Olive," she said. "If you try. If you give it a chance …"

They all needed to do that. They all needed her to do that.

They had to try.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The chapter immediately before this (The Best Things) was added less than 24 hours ago. Please check to make sure you did not miss it.**

 **Your reviews and feedback on the chapters are much appreciated.**


	33. Just Keep Swimming

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 30 (Launching Point). It will be reordered later.**

Hank sat in the lounge chair by the pool staring out across the water to where his two kiddos and Halstead were playing with H. Actually, Halstead was doing his best to entertain Magoo. Giving Erin and H some space so she could most of the goo-goo-gahing at him. Floating him around while his grandbaby worked at splashing all over the place. Kid was starting to get it figured out. Might be a swimmer there in him. Not that that was too surprising. Cami's genes were in there somewhere. And she'd had both the boys in the water before they were barely out of the womb. Making sure she had their fishing and canoeing and boating and swimming and camping buddies on the ready from day one. His boys had been water babies too. Looked like H was going to be too – given the chance.

"He really likes the water," Olive commented quietly next to him.

He patted at his armrest and gave her a look, a thin smile. Had been doing his best to try to play this right. Not smoother her or say something that caused some sort of drama. Sent her running – and taking his grandson right along with her again. So had been keeping his trap shut. Maybe more than usual. Just wasn't too sure what to say. At all. About any of it. Thought the best route was to just be grateful they were there. Let the rest of it be in the past because that's what it was. Couldn't change it. Couldn't fix it. Couldn't get back the days of the weekend that had already passed them by. No real point in brow beating her about it. Pointing out that she could've come up sooner. That he would've paid for her and Henry to fly in. Would've got them a room at the resort. Would've stayed right in Chicago to be there with them. Whatever she wanted, really. Whatever would've been best for all of them. Make everyone the most comfortable.

But, supposed this was going to be as comfortable as it was going to get. Didn't feel that comfortable. Even for him. Could tell she knew all the things he was thinking and wasn't saying too. She was acting real nervous and quiet too. Mousy. Shy. That girl he'd met two years ago. Not the woman – the mother – he'd watched her grow into. But she'd had her share of being kicked around lately too. A lot to process. Especially for a girl still in her twenties. Big changes. Big responsibilities. Hard slog. He was focusing on trying to be understanding of that. Respectful of that. Doing his best to be forgiving about the rest of it. Holding gudges wasn't going to do any good here. Making it a tough love situation would only likely prove any sort of points or stories that Justin had told her about his failings as a father.

So he was keeping his mouth shut. Respecting the eggshells he was walking on in that moment. And just enjoying the time he was getting with his grandson right now. Holding out hope that it'd be more than just that afternoon. That maybe she'd stay overnight or for the rest of the weekend. Maybe showing up now meant that he'd get to see his grandson over parts of the holiday season – Christmas. That maybe that'd open her up to more frequent visits – her and H coming up, him and E heading down. And maybe it'd get her to settle into some sort of comfort level with Chicago again. With him and E and the memories – and that she might even start to entertain making her life there. Raising his grandson there. Not down in the fucking desert.

Truth was he'd nearly lost it when he'd clued in to who was walking alongside Erin and Jay when they'd arrived at the hotel. Him and Magoo sitting in the little café waiting for the two to show up. Paying too much for a fucking cup of coffee in the morning. Had only been passively looking toward the lobby entrance to catch sight of Erin and Halstead. Had pretty much figured it was more likely they'd call or text him when they got there and want to know where to meet. But had been watching anyway. And easier to wait for them in the lobby than over in the building him and Magoo had landed a room in. Good hike from all the amenities. So not much point in waiting for them in the suite.

Still when he'd spotted them and held up a hand in an effort to catch their eyes, it still hadn't dawned on him immediately that it was his daughter-in-law with his grandson in her arms trailing a step behind them. They were headed in their direction before it hit him that it wasn't just some random person. Only been a couple seconds but still. Had made up for those few seconds lost. Been out of his chair – leaving Magoo in the dust, calling after him before he clued in himself – and over to them in a shot.

Knew his eyes were getting watery on the way over there. Even more so when he'd nearly grabbed his grandbaby out of his daughter-in-law's arms. Probably quicker than he should've. Likely should've waited for her to offer H to him. But couldn't. Had been wanting to hold his grandson since that moment when Olive had pulled him out of his arms and shot out the door. Had spent more time than he should've going over that conversation. Those moments. Trying to decide if he should've fought her harder. If he should've held onto Henry tighter. If he should've blocked the door. Plead and negotiated with her. If he should've let her see on the exterior what her decision was doing to him on the inside.

Kick to the gut was putting it mildly. It had winded him in that moment. That morning. Days and weeks after. Still now in a way. More than one way. But that morning – he'd been still reeling from his son's death. From all the fall out from that. Her doing that then? It'd stung in a way he didn't have the words describe.

Best he knew was that just like you don't have a clue what being a parent is like – what it means – until you've got a kid of your own, same goes for becoming a grandparent. Had set with him differently than he'd ever would've anticipated. Maybe it was because Cami wasn't there. Maybe it was because his pop didn't get a chance to play Gramps when he probably would've made a great one. Would've spoiled the kids rotten and let him be the bad guy. That's for sure. Knew that would've been his dad's tactic and would've laughed at any strife or frustration it caused. Claimed that's what Popa's were for and for him to just suck it up. Popa gets the fun stuff. Pops gets stuck being the bad guy.

More than that, though. Strange to see pieces of you and your spouse and your child in this next little person. Another generation. It sits with you. Hits you. And, it hits you in a whole different way when your child – the one who created that little person – is taken from you. Who that kid is and what he represents changes and shifts again. Fair or not to Henry, he would always be his piece of Justin. That being pulled away from him so soon after J's death? No way to describe that hurt. H being down on Base for the first year of his life had been a challenge enough. But least then he knew his grandbaby had his mom and his dad. That his daddy was getting his head on straight. Working at making a life for himself and his family. Doing his best to take care of his family. For all J's faults, at least he'd somehow managed to drive that into him. You did for your wife and kids. After they were on the scene – they were part of your life – that's where your responsibilities lay. That's how choices got made.

Sure, though, in all of it, J had likely told Olive he was a bit of stone wall. Couldn't wring water out of a brick. That he didn't cry. That made he didn't even feel. That he was just a bit of a tight ass. And, Hank wouldn't argue too hard. There was some truth to all those statements. But, sure knew he was capable of tears. More tears than he'd like to admit. Had shed a lot of them in his life. May have lectured at his sons to man up, but never told them that men don't cry. Men are allowed to cry. You lose a parent, you lose a spouse, you lose a sibling, you lose a child. You fucking cry. You bawl your fucking eyes out. May not do much good but letting them out was sure a hell of a lot easier than keeping it all in.

Knew that too. Because he spent a lot of time working at keeping them in. Trying to save the tears for when no one was looking. Hadn't let too many drop around Olive. Though, Erin and Eth had seen their share. More than he'd like. And Olive had sure as fuck got to see them water that morning as he held his grandbaby and talked at him. Gave him the hugs and kisses and belly pats he'd been waiting to give him for months.

Truth was he'd rather be in the water than sitting on the deck with Olive. But he'd gotten his turn with H. Had kept a good grip on him for a lot of the morning – when E would let him. E was just over the moon too to have his nephew there. Either too distracted or smart enough too to know to keep his mouth shut about the how and why and why now behind Olive's appearance with H.

So instead they'd just kept it cordially. Any chatter there'd been about Erin and Halstead taking E paintballing or laser tagging or whatever the fuck it was, didn't even get mentioned. Forgotten. Because they all knew what that day was for now. Family. Time together. Enjoying it while they had it. Clinging to it, the same way they were just clinging to Henry.

So it'd been a resort day. Went around to some of the different activities they had set up for families. Got to sit with H and E while they made an ornament. Been a real good one. Didn't even get any protests from Magoo about being too old for arts and crafts. Instead had helped paint Henry's little palm with white paint while he screamed bloody murder in Popa's lap. But still managed to get that handprint on a Christmas ball. Managed to get two handprints on balls actually, because Hank wasn't just going to send home the one with Olive. Wanted one of his own too. They are only that little for so long and he only was going to get to see H that little so much.

Just family time. Nice time. Ultimately ended up spending some time in the pool. Erin and Halstead had brought their suits and Erin had gone and bought a little swim outfit and water diapers for Henry out of the over-priced gift shop thing. Been enough to get Olive to relent in letting him and Magoo take Henry into the water for a bit. Had been really enjoying it. Sure brought back memories about hanging onto his own two boys as they splashed around, figuring out their doggy paddles when they were little guys. Probably would've been happy doing that all afternoon but could see Erin and Halstead sitting up on the deck with Olive looking a little awkward and bored. So had opted to give them a turn in the water with the boys.

Been watching that show more than trying any sort of conversation with his daughter-in-law since then. So he just patted at his armrest and allowed Olive that thin-lipped smile. Given some sort of assurance that he wasn't too upset about much of anything. At least not upset enough to go at her. To let it impact his time with his grandson. Let her know he was open to talking. Cuz he was. Figured that talking was about the only way they'd come to any sort of understanding. That maybe they could work something out so that visits like this weren't few and far between.

"Oh, yea," Hank nodded, shifting his eyes back to the kids in the pool. "J was a real swimmer at that age too. Got video."

Felt Olive give her own sad smile at that. "Justin was taking him to the pool on Base a lot," she said.

Hank grunted some acknowledgement and smiled a little thinner. Both good and sad to know how hard his son had been trying to be an involved father. Trying to make a relationship with his son. But, hopefully, H would get told and reminded that his father had tried and cared and loved him a whole lot. That some of those limited memories and stories would get told over and over to H. That he'd have something to hold onto about the man who'd helped make him. Bring him into world and give him life.

"I've taken him a few times in Scottsdale," Olive offered quietly.

Hank gave her another little glance at that and gestured over toward the pool entrance. "Adult suits in the shop too," he said. "Don't mind subsidizing it, if you want to get in."

Olive gave her head a little shake and he eyed her for a moment. He gestured at the opposite door. "Adult only pool too," he offered. "Supposed to be hot tub, sauna, spa stuff over on that side, if you wanted to check it out."

But she just shook her head again. "I'm OK watching," she said. "It looks like they're having fun." Hank offered another grunt at that. "They're good with him."

He allowed a sound of acknowledgement, but frowned a little.

Interesting to watch Erin and Jay interact with the baby. Knew it was likely real hard for them in a lot of ways. That it likely had them thinking and feeling their own things above and beyond anything to do with Justin and Henry. But they were out there. Still looked mostly happy. And both of them were real good with H. Shouldn't be too surprised. Both of them were real good with E too. Erin always had been. Two of them did well with the juveniles they had to deal with on the job too. Watching it, though, added another layer to his own sadness. Knowledge that he didn't have his one grandbaby in his life these days and that that other one that he should've or could've been expecting wasn't there either. Some day, though. Knew they'd do OK at it all when they got the opportunity again. Imagined, though, with the whole shit storm lately that any talk about that happening had sorta been put on hold. Who fucking knew, though. Knew that a lot of times that life had plans for you that didn't much match your own.

Moved his eyes away from it to give her another sideways look. "Was going to see if Erin and Jay wanted to stick around for dinner," Hank offered. "If you aren't in too big of a hurry to get back to the city."

Olive gave her head a little shake again but didn't say anything. So he just tapped at the armrest again, trying to figure out what to say next.

"Buffet," he offered because it was about the best he could manage. Didn't excel at small talk. Seemed like small talk was given harder when seemed like there were a lot of big topics of conversation that should be delved into but didn't know much where or how to start without scaring her away. "This place is about the only spot I've found that I can get Magoo to eat without a fight. He'll eat his weight in crab legs."

She just gave him a thin smile at that but it faded just as quickly as she'd humored him with it. So he just rubbed at the armrest again.

"If you really aren't in any hurry to get back to Chicago, welcome to stay the night," Hank tried again, keeping his eyes on her. She gave him a glance. "Got a one-bedroom suite. No problem setting up you and Henry in the bedroom. Me and Magoo can take the pullout. Order up a cot." Her eyes shifted back to the pool. Hank just kept his on her.

"They get the Christmas tree lit up tonight," he said. "Think Santa will be at. Some breakfast thing with him in the morning for the kids. Know it's kinda early for all that. But know Magoo's been really wanting to take H to meet Santa. Kid's been talking about it since October."

"Yea …," Olive allowed quietly. Didn't think it was so much as 'yea, we'll stay' as it was a 'yea, E is driving me crazy', though. "Were Erin and Jay planning on staying tonight?" she finally asked. "They hadn't said …"

Hank shook his head. "No," he allowed. "Far I know their plan was to head back around dinner. But you want to stay, be happy to give you a lift tomorrow. Me and E would hit the road by about noon, one." She gave a little nod. Eyed her some more. "Your flight out tomorrow? Or sticking around a few days? Seeing your aunt?"

"I drove," Olive said quietly.

"You drove?" he put back to her. She nodded. He gave his face a little scrub and stared at her some more, processing that a bit. "Long drive on your own with a little guy in the backseat."

"Yea …," she acknowledged.

He sighed. Really made himself do that because he'd nearly let out a real unimpressed smack. "Olive, really didn't mind paying for you and Henry to come up this weekend. Don't mind doing it at Christmas. Don't mind doing it, period. You want to come up for a visit, just get on the horn and let me know. I'll get it booked. Don't need to be logging that kind of mileage by yourself."

She shrugged. "Things just didn't really go the way I had planned …"

He grunted at that, poking his tongue into his cheek. Knew that feeling. Thanksgiving that year sure hadn't looked the way he'd expected it either. Not the way he'd expected it if you'd asked him in the summer what and where his Thanksgiving would be that year. Not even what he'd hoped it'd look like after he'd lost his son either. Had tried to make the best of it. Had still had a decent holiday with his youngest. Worked at making some memories. Worked harder at just spending some time together and keeping themselves distracted. It'd been decent enough. But it really could've been different. That was real apparent now.

"When'd you get in?" he asked flatly. Tried to keep any sort of criticism or judgment out of his voice.

"Just yesterday," she said.

He gave a little nod. "Staying at your aunt's place?"

Her chest rose and fell. "Erin let me stay with them last night," she said at a near whisper and gave him a small glance. "Their place is nice," she added. "It's not what I expected with what … and where they were looking in the summer."

He grunted and his eyes shifted back out to where the group of them were in the water. Doing his best to keep an eye on them. Knew they were fine but the pool was fairly busy. Just wanted to make sure everything was kosher. Baby was behaving. E was behaving. That Erin and Jay had a handle on it.

"Think they're trying to stay close," he said. "For Magoo."

She nodded but there wasn't a comment. But Hank didn't really know what comment to make either. Erin hadn't told him Olive and H were with her. Hadn't told him that they'd slept over. Hadn't included him in any way in any discussion about where they were setting down their roots. So just had to read between the lines about what that logic was. Wasn't too hard to figure out. Because he'd noted the areas his girl was looking at in the summer versus where they'd bought too. And he was grateful they'd decided to settle there – close to home. For now. Just like he was grateful that whatever had transpired had resulted in his girl transporting his daughter-in-law and grandson to him that day. Wasn't worth commenting on too much. Sometimes putting words to things just diminished the meaning anyway.

"Sticking around a few days then before heading back?" he asked instead.

"I don't know," she said. "I haven't decided yet." But there was a tone to it and a pregnant pause. She cast him another quick look. "Erin showed me her condo."

His eyes really set on her at that. Tried to organize his thoughts a bit. Tried to decide who was best to interrogate on that statement. Which one of the girls would be best to push – or piss off. What it'd mean for his relationship with either of them. What damage or good it could do on either front.

But didn't have much of a chance to come to any conclusions. E was splashing up to the edge of the pool.

"Dad," his kid called out at him and he shifted his eyes. "Can you come flip me again? Jay doesn't do it right. I keep getting water up my nose!"

Hank eyed him. Hesitated. But grunted his acknowledgement and shifted to pull himself back out of the lounge. To go and spend time with family. To hope that doing that might ultimately be enough to repair his family. What was left of it.

Him standing up was enough for Magoo to start splashing back across the pool. Tossed his towel back onto the lounger and gave Olive a thin smile. Maybe she'd appreciate a few minutes alone. Maybe watching from a distance would help.

"Hank …," she called at him after he'd hopped into the water – skipping the ladder. He turned back to her. "Just so you know … I know you … try … to be a good dad and a good grandpa. … That you are …"

He stared at her and gave her a little nod. But then just patted at the deck. "Should stay tonight," he said. "Should talk."

But then just turned. Went across the pool. To be that good dad and that good grandpa. Let her see that a bit more. Get her to believe it. And he'd just leave it at that. For now.

 **Author Note: Your reviews and feedback are appreciated.**

 **Please note, that chapters were reordered recently to put things in order.**


	34. Between the Lines

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER WOULD HAPPEN AFTER CHAPTER 33 — JUST KEEP SWIMMING. IT IS A RECAST OF THE ERIN/VOIGHT SCENE IN THE CAR IN S04E09.**

Hank slumped into the driver's seat of the Escalade – scrubbing at his face for a moment as he waited for Erin to get her ass into the car. She did but she'd barely shut the door before she gave him her take on the Parent-Teacher conference they'd managed to get through and walk out of without having a blow-up inside or between each other on the way back to the parking lot. Keeping up fucking appearances for Ignatius.

"They're going to hold him back," she said automatically.

"No one said that," Hank rasped evenly, gripping at the steering wheel.

"Read between the lines, Hank," Erin hissed.

He gave her a warning look. He'd invited her to this thing as a bit of a courtesy. And not. Because she – and Halstead – were pretty fucking actively involved in Ethan's education anymore. Because in trying to re-establish whatever their fucking family was anymore, he'd been learning he needed to relinquish some control. That he needed to let her in a bit. To at least hear out her opinions – even when he didn't fucking want to. And sometimes he even needed to let her be the decision-maker. To keep the fucking peace. To try to re-build their dynamic. Or to create a new one. Or whatever the fuck they were doing. Some days he didn't know. But he knew he was pulling out all stops to try. Because she was part of what she had left. Because she mattered to him. And to Magoo. And to Henry. And to their family as a whole.

"It's only December," he provided.

"And he's failing," Erin said, pressing her own knuckles into the dash in front of her in her frustration.

"He's not failing," Hank corrected.

"Look at his fucking report card, Hank," her eyes darted to him. "He's failing."

"You can't fucking fail an IEP," he told her sternly. "He's struggling."

"And they're going to hold him back," she argued again.

"It's only December," he nodded right back at her – again.

She sighed. Frustration and annoyance hissing out of her in unison.

But he knew exactly where she was coming from. He had the same feeling. The same fears. And he'd come out of that meeting with the teacher and his EA feeling the exact same way.

But it wasn't Ethan who was failing. It was the school that was fucking failing him. And it didn't seem to matter how many times he argued with the teacher and with the EA and with the administration – or he fucking cornered Caruso and told him to fucking fix it – it just didn't seem to get better.

And he was at the point that he was at a loss of what to do about it at home. Ethan had tutors. He had cognitive therapists. He had counselors and therapists and doctors at the rehab institute trying to help them figure out how to best utilize his son's damage brain and to balance against coping with his ill and exhausted body that kept pulling him out of school.

They spent hours with him on homework. On weeknights. On weekends. And all of them could only handle so much. Ethan could only handle so much. The poor kid was so exhausted and so overwhelmed and so fucking frustrated in his own right. It was a complete find fuck for his son too. A way to just keep chipping away at his already lacking self-esteem and self-confidence.

And as a father it ranged between heartbreaking and frustrating and just fucking plain infuriating. Because he wasn't a parent who thought his kid was perfect. He knew Ethan was a complete pain in the ass to have in a classroom. He knew even for an EA, Magoo could be a bit of a challenge. He knew that Eth could have attitude and lip. That he could have periods of laziness. That he could be anti-authority. And on his bad days he could be a whiney little bugger who just didn't want to do anything and would pull the hurting or tired card just to get out of working and hobble himself down to the nursing station for the period.

But at the same time – Hank knew his son wasn't stupid. Brain damaged, yes. A slow learner, yes. A kid who needed his lessons to be hands on. Who had trouble with his short-term memory at times. Who needed to have things repeated back to him like a fucking broken record. But he wasn't stupid. At all. He was as smart as he wanted to be on most subjects. And he was smarter than some in a handful of subjects. He had his own strengths and weaknesses like anyone else. His own interests and skill sets. And even though he wasn't a conventional learner. Even though he wasn't great in a classroom environment. Even though Hank knew full well his family and his teachers and his school and his therapists were going ot have to drag him tooth and nail through his education – Ethan was capable. He could do it. He just needed the time and the understanding and the patience.

And sometimes it just felt like he was yelling into the void when he tried to get that out of the school. For all the accommodations they supposedly were providing. For all the money he was dropping into Ignatius even on the subsidy – to try to get his son a good, support, accommodating, exceptional education – it seemed like it was all for naught some days.

And every time he opened the weekly report in his son's calendar or got the fucking semester progress report or got back a test or was handed a report card – he just felt like they were sliding back down the mountain in a fucking avalanche more than they were making any progress. When assignments and projects they worked on with his son at home came back with decent marks. When modified activity sheets and learning techniques they taught him at RIC seemed to resonate with him. But he just couldn't figure out how to get any of it to click. All the pieces to fit together and jive so that the day-to-day academic environment somehow worked for his son. So that some of the great progress he was making was actually fucking reflected in the progress the school was seeing.

Instead he felt like they just all kept getting told that his son was an idiot. A fucking hopeless case. And that wasn't how he raised his boy. his family. And it wasn't how he saw his son. It wasn't how he liked anyone to see his son. He wasn't a lost cause. And he wasn't some fucking charity case.

"It's going to be same come June," Erin muttered.

"Six months between now and then," Hank graveled.

Because that's what he needed to keep telling himself. Six months was a long time. And a lot of time to keep arguing with the school. And making E's case. For Magoo to keep progressing and improving.

He had a lot on his plate that fall. They all kid. It wasn't supposed to be easy. Life wasn't.

But he was tired. So fucking tired. Of all of it.

And he just didn't have it in him that night to rehash what they'd heard inside with Erin. To argue about if he was doing enough at home. If he was standing up enough for Ethan at school. If he should have more tutors. Or be at a different school. Or even if he should accept that maybe his son should be held back. To give him time to catch up physically and mentally and emotionally and academically. If Ethan ever would. And that was a big fucking question mark. But the one answer he already knew was that holding his son back a year … or two … would only make him a bigger mark than he already was. Would only make damage his son's confidence and self-worth more than it already was. And the other answer he knew was that he wouldn't do that to Magoo.

But he just couldn't talk about any of that. All of that. Not tonight. He'd rather just get home to his boy. To move him towards lights out. To watch some fucking dinosaur documentary. To read to him. To hear him babble about his day. To calm him about his fears about what was coming up later that month with his M.S. and his treatment. To talk about what E wanted to do on the weekend. All the fucking Christmas crap he wanted to start getting going with them being into the holiday season that Voight didn't want to think about. To just get home to his son. Where he needed to be. Where he should be. Where any progress they were going to make in any of this really was.

So Erin could go and vent about the conference with Halstead. Could vent about Ignatius. Or him. Or Magoo. And get it all off her chest. Without blowing smoke in his face. Or out of her ass in the process. Because he knew she was hurt and worried and frustrated too. But there was only so much he could do about any of that. Any more. And talking about it that night wasn't going to accomplish much anyway.

Like he said – they had six months to talk about it. To argue about it. To try to fucking figure it out. If there was a fucking answer.

So instead he put the keys in the ignition. But he didn't get to start it up.

"Does the name Jimmy Sanguinetti mean anything to you?" Erin asked flatly – out of nowhere – as she stared blankly out the front window.

His hand dropped away from twisting the keys. His mind dropped way from the one fucking mess he was still trying to get his head wrapped around to fucking working at wrapping itself around this comment out of his girl. To get his head on straight before he said something fucking stupid. Because that name – that comment – it wasn't something that was going to wait six months to be worked on and dealt with.

He gave her a sideways glance – weighing that. More that weighing it. Because even floating that name was nothing but trouble. And he didn't have to even bother to hedge bets on where that name was coming from. She hadn't just pulled it out of her ass. And Jimmy – fucking Jimmy Sanguinetti – sure as fuck wouldn't have just magically decided to bump into her in a way she'd know his name and try to ask all casual about him either.

But they both knew – as soon as she fucking said it, no matter how fucking even and unfeeling she was trying to keep her voice – that there wasn't anything casual about her dropping that name. Her testing the waters at all. About anything.

Never really had been with Erin. She might talk to him. Or at him. But there was usually some underlying purpose or goal to her chitchat – at least with him. They weren't much for small talk. Even when they did the small talk. She'd learned quick to have a point if she wanted to make much progress in a conversation with him.

These days their so-called "conversations" were even more to the point. Even more curt. Brief. To the fucking point. And he knew this one would be too. Even if there was more he wanted to say about it. Knew even with this opening that he'd be wanting to tell her to keep the fuck away from Bunny. To not let Bunny send her on another fucking banana peel. To push her down into some hole. Again. To not believe a fucking thing that woman said. Ever. And to remember that Bunny – Bunny fucking used her. Always had. Always would. Bunny always manipulated her child – her fucking child even if she was an adult woman now – as a means to an end. Whatever that fucking end was now. Whatever fucking con it was. Whoever she was trying to hurt now. Him. Erin. Jimmy. Who fucking knew. He didn't fucking really care what Bunny's play was. Because he knew enough to know that Bunny preyed unvulnerability. And the woman – that was about the one thing she was any good at. At fucking sniffing out when people were hurting and turning it into her own fucking advantage.

And Bunny would know. Knew. That his family – his girl – they were hurting these days. They were in fucking turmoil. That for the first time in sixteen-plus years, his hold over Erin wasn't that night. Because they were fractured. Because he was still working at fixing those wounds in his family. Still figuring out how to talk to his girl. And his remaining son. And his daughter-in-law. Still fucking trying to put all the pieces back together. And that meant there were stray fucking pieces all over the place that Bunny could come in and try to steal away from him.

And she was fucking going to take advantage of that. To finally try to really get her hooks back into her daughter. Like she hadn't already too many times before. And whatever the reasoning was behind that – the reason wasn't Erin. Because Erin had never been a priority in Bunny's life. Not even when she was a little girl – who needed her mom. And a stable fucking home life. Who fucking at least deserved that much. A mom who didn't play her and a parent who gave her a roof over her head and food on the table. Clean clothes on her back. And not having to live in fear about what men her mother would have in her house. Or fucking worse – what mean might be coming into her bedroom at night when Bunny was too fucking flopped out to know the difference. A child who was on the streets and hooked on drugs and selling her body when she should've been just on the fucking volleyball team in middle school and worrying about her next math test. Not the rest of that fucking negligent bullshit that her mother had inflicted – had fucking brought – on her.

But it still wouldn't be about any of that. This. This name drop – the already clear fucking ploy before Erin even said a fucking word more – was going to be about Bunny trying to wedge a further wedge between him and his girl. Bunny trying to get back at him – for "taking" her daughter. For raising her daughter. For giving her daughter a better life. And a better family – or at least that's what he'd tried for and maybe succeed for a while. And for loving her daughter. His fucking daughter. Now. His girl. For better or worse. Even when they couldn't talk properly. Even when she still hated his guts and could hardly look him in the eyes. She was still his girl. And no matter what bullshit Bunny was trying now. What wool she was going to try to pull in front of Erin's eyes – or Jimmy's – Erin was still his daughter. Now. She always would be. Because you don't raise a child – you don't love a child – and just let that all fall away. You don't just let it go. No matter the circumstances.

But after giving her a glance – because that was still about the most he was allowed these days – he looked back out the front windshield. He worked at centering himself after that fucking meeting to crank the engine and start the car. Even though another fucking part of him knew that he shouldn't be driving while he had this conversation with his girl. Because no matter how fucking detached from all of this he tried to keep himself – Bunny was succeeding in the game she was playing. She was working at kicking him when he was down. And it was working. Because things were strained enough with his girl.

He was finally starting to feel like maybe – just maybe – they were getting back on some sort of track. That they could at least talk. That maybe she wanted to piece their family back together too. The best they could. What was left of it. Because her and Halstead had come out to The Abbey for Thanksgiving – even if they hadn't spent the whole weekend with them. Because she'd brought his daughter-in-law and his grandson with them. Because it sounded like Olive would be bringing H back to his city – closer to him and letting him be a part of his life. Of E's life too. And that was Erin who'd managed to get that flowing in the right direction after he'd spend four months banging his head against a brick wall in trying to talk to Olive. To have any sort of meaningful discussion with her. To try to find the words to talk to her and explain to her that … he could do better. That he could be better. That he wanted – he fucking needed – to be a part of her life. Of his grandson's life. And that E needed that too. And so did Erin. That they all fucking needed it. That he wanted – he fucking needed – to believe that it's what J would've wanted to.

And now Bunny had picked the perfect time again. The most fucking hurtful time. To move in make her strike. Just as they were starting to inch forward. Just when he was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Starting to believe that he could piece together that fucking puzzle in a way that would do the family he'd worked so hard for some justice. In a way that Camille would still look down with some hope and pride in what he'd managed to maintain. That he'd managed to do some right despite all the fucking costly mistakes he'd made.

But instead Bunny was rocking the boat. Fucking it up. Getting into his girl's head and sending her spinning again.

So he knew that if he started the car he'd likely end up over at Bunny's – wherever the fuck that was these days. But he didn't doubt he'd have no trouble tracking her down. She left a fucking wake wherever she went. Destruction in every fucking life she got near. Whatever she fucking touched. She was a walking fucking banana peel. And if he had his way he'd pick her up and throw her in the fucking garbage disposal where she belonged. He would've fucking done it 31 years ago if he had his way.

"Yeah. What about him?" was all he said, though. Like he didn't already know. Like he couldn't read it all over Erin's face. Her tone. Her fucking body language. Because no matter where they were at right now as father-daughter – she was still his girl. Because he was the one who raised her. And he fucking knew her. And he could read her like a book.

"Apparently he's my dad," she managed to get out. But there was a catch in her voice that she tried to disguise as it being an inflection like it was some sort of question.

He'd caught it. But what he'd caught more was the wrench to his gut he'd felt at someone else – undeserving – getting that title. "My dad." Maybe they didn't use that wording. Maybe they never had. Maybe the closest he'd ever gotten was when he'd overheard her talking to the boys and she used "Dad" or "Daddy" with them. Not "your dad". Not "your daddy". Just conversation among the kids – and bitching and moaning or plotting and scheming about "dad". About "daddy". And maybe for all those years – that'd been enough. Because he'd known who he was and what he was without those titles bestowed on him by her. Because he'd had a crash course on what made a parent. And what made a father. And it wasn't fucking DNA. And it wasn't some junked out premature jiz squirt with Bunny in some fucking flop house on some fucking dirty mattress that made him her father either. And knowing that was enough. Or it had been. Maybe that and the occasional smiles and the peck of a kiss and gripping hugs he got (after she'd learned that he wasn't some man who was going to hurt her or take advantage of her or not treat her like the little girl she was and not act like the adult man that he was – the husband and father already) with the little cards and brief grateful notes that he got on Christmas and his birthday and Father's Day. It told him enough about how she saw him. Or had seen him. He didn't need her to call him dad. He thought he hadn't. And he better not need to. Because now – they were words he likely wouldn't ever hear out of her mouth. Not about him. Just about this fucking jagoff from his past. But even then – now - it didn't change what he knew he was. Or what he had been to her. What he'd keep being to her even these days – when she didn't want him to be that. Not anymore.

He turned his head slowly and gazed at it. He didn't even attempt to hide the gut-kick she'd managed with that claim. His disapproval. The complete piss off that was eating at him. There wasn't any point. Because she'd know exactly how he felt about all this before she even broached the topic. And even if she'd somehow managed to convince herself that he'd be supportive in this latest Bunny mind-fuck – she'd known him long enough that she could read him too. She knew his poker faces. And what they meant.

This situation, though. It didn't fucking deserve a poker face. And maybe Erin needed to fucking see that … some of this … bullshit. All of it. This fallout. This change. This fucking loss of grip. These fucking losses after losses. And struggles after struggles. Challenges after challenges. This fucking life he'd been handed – whatever the fuck it was. It fucking hurt him. A lot. And these days it was a fucking slog to get through them. To keep putting that one foot in front of the other. To believe there was some kind of little bit of light at the end of whatever fucking tunnel it was they were in. For her to fucking know that the only reason he still kept on trying. He kept on fighting wasn't because of the job or the city or the people in it. It was because of the people he had left in his life. It was for them. It was to still keep on trying to give them a better life than the one he'd lead. For them to have childhoods and families and opportunities he hadn't had. For them to be able to find that fucking light, even if he couldn't. That even if life wasn't fucking fair – that they'd still be able to do that much. Or at least he could set the example of moving forward. Step by fucking step. For them. For her. For E. And for H. And for Olive. And for Justin and Camille's memory. For those things he had left. No matter how much it fucking hurt. They were still worth living for. Worth fighting for.

And he'd fight through this too. He'd fought for her before. More than once. He'd fought Bunny for her. And he'd won. He might be older now. He might be more rundown now. He might be in a rougher spot now than he was before. He might not have the same support on the home front. But he'd still fight for her tooth and nail. And he'd still fucking believe – that no matter his failings, no matter how Erin felt about him right now – deep down, she'd know he still won. He'd still fucking win out over her mother. Over some fucking sperm donor who'd never been there in the first place. Who didn't fucking deserve to be there now.

She just looked at him, though. Tried to play innocent. To play clueless. Just like she always did when she wanted to believe Bunny's bullshit.

"Bunny says he's out of prison," she managed, diverting her eyes just slightly.

Because that was convenient. A nice little flourish to the long held story that Bunny had fed her. That her father was in prison. That her father was in New Mexico. That her father was just some voice over the phone that she could hardly remember. That his girl couldn't even fully remember if she'd ever seen the guy. Not anymore than if Magoo could really remember what his mom looked like. But E had pictures. Erin didn't even have that. She just had a lifetime of Bunny's fucking fairy tales. Ones by the Brothers Grimm. Chopped off toes, gobbled up children, raped damsels and all. Not the fucking Disney Cinderella bullshit that Bunny tried to sell to her.

"That he's in town. That he wants to reconnect," she tried when he just kept giving her that look. That face. The one that should've told her that this was a fucking banana peel that she shouldn't go slipping on. That this was more fucking little Bunny turds – not fucking Hershey's kisses in her path. To not go getting spoon fed by them. That none of this was going to leave a good taste in her mouth. Already tasted like complete and utter shit to him. Could smell it coming off her breath too.

He allowed her a grunt. Because how the fucking else was he supposed to respond to that. Figured the look was enough. They'd known each other long enough for it to be enough.

But she kept looking at him. She wanted more.

He weighed what she wanted. If she wanted a fight. If she wanted him to talk her out of it. If she wanted his blessing to go see this fucking jagoff. To get involved with her mother's latest bullshit. If she wanted his feedback or advice. Or she just wanted some sort of excuse increase her tally against him in the reasons she hated him that week.

But reality was – he didn't want to fight with her. And he'd accepted that she was a grown woman. That she'd made some tough choices these past few months. That her life had been recalibrated too. That all of this had sent her down a different path than the one she might've been expecting too. And that it was better to treat her like an adult. To accept that she was capable of her own decisions. And her own mistakes. To understand he couldn't fix everything for his children. And sometimes if he tried to fix any of it, he just ended up fucking them all up a lot more. So, he'd let her figure this out on her own.

Because he'd also always known there would come a point in her life that this would be an issue. A question. That you don't adopt – raise – a child who's not biologically yours and not expect them to eventually start demanding to know where they came from. To want to know why they are the way they are. To want to look in the mirror and see themselves. To look into another person's eyes and see pieces of the soul you'd ended up with. To try to understand yourself by clinging to people who likely weren't meant to give you answers. Who probably never really wanted to.

Thing was he'd always thought that any of those questions – they would've dealt with them by Erin's 21st birthday. That that was shit a young adult went through. Questions you waded through in their teens and maybe their early twenties. But then life kicked you in the teeth and you just … had to start working with the card you'd be dealt the best you could. You didn't always get to know what else was going on in the dealer's deck. They couldn't all count the fucking cards. They didn't all end up with a stacked fucking deck. You just did the best you could.

And Erin – there'd always been issues with her mother. There'd always been this fucking … struggle … from her girl in trying to get Bunny to love her. Trying to be better for Bunny. All this fucking talk and therapy and counseling to at least try to convince Erin that it wasn't her who'd been at fault. It wasn't her who'd done anything wrong. It wasn't her who was unlovable. It wasn't her that was broken. If anything it was Bunny who'd broken her. And it was also Bunny who was just fucking broken – beyond repair at this point. She wasn't going to change. She was a woman in her 50s and still a fucking mess. It was her who was in the wrong. Her who'd fucked up. Not Erin. Not as a little girl. Not as an adult woman.

But there are some wounds that no matter what kind of loving supportive family you gave a kid. No matter what kind of therapy you got them. No matter what kind of life you worked your ass off to help them build – or rebuild. Those wounds just couldn't be repaired. It just go t ingrained in your psyche. And that part of Erin was something they'd all learned to live with too.

It was another hard part of being a parent. A parent of an adopted older child. That they came to you with baggage. And no matter how much you loved them or hugged them or tried to help them – they were always going to be a damaged in some way. But that didn't stop you from loving them or hugging them and trying to help them. Even when they are an adult and even when they are kicking you in the guts.

Even when it meant that he'd spent sixteen-plus years of his life having to have Bunny lurking in the shadows of his family's life so that he could keep his family together. Even as fucking Bunny looked for every fucking chance to pull it apart.

And he'd just accepted it – that as much of a cancer as Bunny was – that she was Erin's mother. That no matter how many times he told her to cut that woman out of her life. No matter how he tried to keep them apart. Or banned Erin from seeing her. It just didn't do any fucking good. And whenever they reached a boiling point where he put his foot down about it – it just fucking boiled over into a whole mess. So it was another reality he'd had to swallow. That Erin was the one who had to decide how to manage that relationship.

But until now it'd always just been that fucked up mess of a relationship. There hadn't been a whole lot of talk about her father. Because she'd bought Bunny's stories about jail and New Mexico and whatever fucking fantasy that got handed out that week, month or year. And even though Hank could tell that sometimes hurt her – that she didn't entirely believe it – she'd seemed to have just … taken that one on the chin.

Until now. At thirty years old. And Bunny picking at a wound. At offering some sort of new fantasy and false hope – just as he was struggling to maintain a relationship with HIS DAUGHTER. Real fucking convenient.

So let her have the fantasy. Only he'd make it less of a fantasy and more of a news reel. Let Erin judge the REAL facts on her own. Make a more educated choice. One that wasn't fucking wrapped up in a fiction.

"I ran into Sanguinetti a couple times," he allowed. "Back when he was crashing with your mom."

She looked even more shocked at that. Out of the corner of his eye. But she tried to keep a poker face. Tried to look like that didn't surprise her. That it didn't hurt her. That there wasn't some sort of sting to all of this to her too. That she didn't have that bad taste in her mouth even speaking the guy's name. Even bring up her mother in his Escalade.

"I thought you met Bunny when … you first pulled me off the street," she managed to get out.

He craned his neck to look at her again. It was almost funny that she'd somehow managed to convince herself of that. That working that block. That following that drug trail. That he wouldn't have had dealings with Bunny long before he started pulling her daughter out of dark alleys and passenger seats of middle-aged men's cars. That with someone like Bunny – having worked as a cop as long as he had – he wouldn't have tripped across her some time in the past.

"I knew Bunny long before you were born," he graveled. Didn't try to hide his disgust and annoyance either. Because anything to do with Bunny – it did that to him. He just had no patience. "Most of the young cops in the District knew Bunny."

"What does that mean?" she pressed out with her own broken disgust. He wasn't looking at her. But the tone – her face, even out of the corner of his eyes – he could feel the grief and the defeat.

And he wasn't going to twist the knife. He didn't want to. Or need to. "There was always some domestic or disturbing the peace call at her place or the bar," he provided.

The bare necessities. But the facts. Not a fucking fictional narrative. A reality that Erin should've known on her own. Because that was the way it was for her growing up too. It wasn't like it'd all gone to shit after Erin was born. Or when Erin could start recalling memories of her childhood. It wasn't Erin's fault that Bunny's life was the way it was. It wasn't having a baby that "ruined" Bunny's life. Bunny was fucked up long before her daughter – or her son – was on the scene. And she'd managed to fuck it up – and not pull herself up and fix it up – all on her own.

"Why didn't you ever tell me that?" Erin gaped slightly. The confusion and the hurt was palpable.

But maybe he didn't ever say anything because it was hurting him more than her laying it out there. Thinking about all those years ago. That maybe things could've been different back then if some people had done their job a little differently. If Bunny had been approached in a different way. If someone had gotten her help rather than farther enabling her. Or if she'd just fucking gotten locked up – rather than some fucking cop taking her up on whatever her latest manipulation or bribe in that moment was. Alcohol, dope, smack, pussy. It was always something if you were that kind of cop.

Maybe he was on the list of people who should've done more way back when. Maybe he should've been the kind of cop that would've made his father proud even right out of the gate. Maybe he shouldn't have been so concerned about the other players involved. The connects that even a small-time whore like Bunny had when she was kicking around Cicero and the Village. The pimps she was in bed with and the guys they were in bed with. And the way the city fucking ran back then.

It was a different time. The '80s. Chicago had changed a lot. The players had moved and shifted. And you had to move and shift to keep up. Bunny hadn't. Even though she already had some other new game in her repertoire. Some other play.

And maybe that was why it pissed him off too. Because he should've known back then. Before Erin was born. And done something. But he hadn't. So then after him and Camille had their girl home – he'd spent the next sixteen-plus years wishing he'd done something then. And that he'd known about Bunny – unsurprisingly – getting herself pregnant. And that he'd done something and gotten that little girl out of there sooner. That he'd fixed it before there was a broken pre-teen running the street and dabbling in drugs and doing what she needed to do to survive. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't wish that him and Camille got to bring Erin home sooner than he'd dragged her to their house and into the wrath of his wife. But after that faded, he'd spent years of his subconscious quietly wishing that they'd gotten to bring her home as a baby. That she was the little girl that they'd lost – but that he'd found. And she should've been theirs all along. That he should've rescued her from that life from the get.

But that wasn't how the world worked. That was a fantasy of the sorts that Bunny handed it. It wasn't fucking reality. And he wasn't some fucking White Knight or Prince Charming. And Bunny – or Jimmy Sanguinetti – weren't some fucking dragons to slay. They just happened to be trolls that lived under the bridge and kept impeding his family's way to trying to have … some fucking … normalcy. Some fucking peace.

"Never came up," Voight said, staring back out the windshield at that dimly lit parking lot. At the fucking school he'd gotten his girl into. At the fucking education he'd pulled strings to get her. At the fucking normal life he'd tried to get her. And he hadn't. Not then. And not fucking now. And it all just hurt. All lies and cover ups of his own. And maybe he wasn't any better than Bunny when you got right down to it. He was his own kind of screw up.

Erin just nodded, though. Looking at him and looking away. Like she expected that answer. Accepted it. Because why wouldn't she. It was him. They didn't talk about shit that didn't come up.

She'd never asked about her father. Not directly. She'd never asked how long he'd known Bunny. Why would she? And she'd definitely never brought up Jimmy Sanguinetti 's name. So why would he?

"Bunny just sprung this on me," she muttered, slumping against her door, her arm snaking along the window for support. Or maybe readying herself for escape. Because that was part of her M.O too. He'd known her long enough – raised her long enough – to know that too. "Now you just … sprung that on me too."

Voight gave a shrug. "Didn't spring anything," he said. "Just gave you the facts. You asked."

She cast him a look. An accusation. And she just sighed – huffed – even louder and shook her head.

"Well, he wants to meet," she directed at him bluntly.

Hank just grunted. Because that was an obvious statement. And obvious construction of whatever little scheme that Bunny was running this time. Should've been a given. Didn't need to go stated. But it earned him another short glare.

"It might be why I've seemed a little off," she allowed quietly.

Voight gave a little shrug. "Think you've got lots of reasons these days to be more than a little off," he conceded. Because that was another hard truth. A reality. One they were dealing with. One he'd accepted. And one that applied not just to her. To all of them. They were all a little off. They were all a little short. None of them were themselves and they were all just walking this fucking tightrope and trying not to fall down.

"That's all you've got to say about it," she spat at him, though.

He shifted in his seat to give her a more full look – a touch of warning to it. "What do you want me to say about it, Erin?" he put to her.

She sighed harder. The hurt, anger, annoyance, frustration and confusion all pursing through her lips. "I don't know," she admitted. "Something."

"You want me to ask if you're going to meet him?" Hank put back at her.

"I don't know," she admitted again – the defeat in her voice more apparent. "But maybe I want to hear what you have to say about it."

He kept his eyes on her. It was about the first time she'd opened herself to hear what he'd had to say about anything in months. That she invited him to actually have an opinion. Sought it out.

"I don't think you much want to hear what I have to say about it," he told her, though. "And, I think you know what I'd say."

She stared out her window. "Then say it," she put flatly.

He tapped his hand against the ledge at his own window. He stared at the side of her hair. Her hair. Her ear. The ones that he knew off by heart from sixteen years of her being his child. From years of her still being at home. Of her crying and raging and screaming and yelling and trembling in the night – as she struggled with the trauma her mother put her through. As she dealt with nightmares and insecurities and distrust and anger and addiction. As she tried to be a normal teenager who'd already lived too much life. But who he – and his wife – still held and hugged and rocked and fought with and praised and punished and raised at their own. As much as they could and with the time they'd been allowed.

"What I think is that Bunny is playing you," he put to her bluntly. "That she knows that you – me, all of us, this family – is in a vulnerable fucking spot right now. That she sees an opening because we're estranged—"

"Are we?" Erin muttered.

Hank just smacked at her. Because he wasn't going to let either of them live in some fantasy now either. He wasn't going to pretend that the fact Erin had started coming around the house again meant things were better. Or that they'd managed to at least have part of Thanksgiving together meant anything beyond her trying for E's sake. Or that her talking to him tonight meant they were moving in the right direction. All it meant was they were trying. That they were working at it. And that fucking counted for something. But they weren't fixed yet. He wasn't sure they ever exactly would be. They'd just keep on working on rebuilding an understanding. And hopefully there'd be a point where she wanted that understanding too – with him – and not just for Ethan's sake. For theirs. For the sake of their family. The one she deserved. The one she'd really grown up with. And the one she was an important and valued part of.

"And I don't think you need me to tell you that I don't buy for a second that Bunny has a fucking clue who your father is," Hank pressed at her, ignoring the opening she'd given there. "Maybe that's what you're looking for me to say? Or you just want to add to the fodder."

More reason to hate him. Add it to the fucking list. Because no one wants to be told that they were likely conceived in a fucking drunk-assed, stone-out of their mind one-night stand. Which was likely being generous when it came to Erin's conception – and Bunny. That Bunny was flopping around with so many people back then. That she was using sex as pay-off with pimps, dealers and cops – not to mention whoever she was just fucking running with at the time. But those guys – he likely couldn't even remember who she was sleeping with when. They likely couldn't either. And it was likely a different guy in her bed each morning. Maybe a different guy from the one she'd even fallen into bed with the night before. Because she was so drunk and stoned off her ass – as much as she took advantage of people, she was running with the kind of people who likely took advantage of her too.

And Erin knew that. She'd seen it growing up too. But she just didn't want to admit it. No one really would. And Voight couldn't really blame her for that. A fantasy was likely a whole lot more easy to bear.

"Right," Erin muttered. "My mother the whore."

"That's not the word I used," Voight muttered on his own and gazed out the window too. He might not have used it. But he sure as fuck thought it. And, he knew for a fact – that it was fact. But that was one fact that he didn't need to confirm absolutely for her. She was a smart girl. Always was. She'd long ago put together those dots.

"It's just like …" she said even more quietly. So fucking quietly he wasn't even sure she was saying it to him. Or even if she fully realized she was saying it out loud. "…whenever my life starts to feel normal … again … there's just another pothole."

"Then don't let yourself fall in," he told her. "Because you walk over to that edge to take a look. Bunny's goin' push you."

And that was about all he could say. It was about all he thought she was ready to hear. For now. Because if he said more, he thought it'd be him just pushing her to that edge faster. Because that always seemed to be the way it worked.

Erin, though – his girl – she just let out a long sigh. A rattled breath. So he just cranked the engine.

"I'll get you home," he told her.

And he would. Take her back to Halstead. To their place. But he could get her home – to the home she'd always belonged in. That she still belonged in. That she was still welcome in. That she was loved in. That she was wanted in. And always would be. If she'd fucking let him. He'd get her back there. He'd keep her there. All of them.

 **AUTHOR NOTE:**

 **This chapter would go after what is currently chapter 33 — Just Keep Swimming. It will be reordered later.**

 **To answer the enviable questions, right now, NO, I am not planning on making Voight Erin's father. Even though I feel the show has done minor set ups in S01 and S02 for that reveal, I also feel that there was enough said int he series and enough said by the EPs and writers that we were assured that Voight IS NOT her father. So I actually feel a little lied to and betrayed IF/WHEN they make that "big reveal" either in the finale or the season premier of S05.**

 **Honestly, my feeling is that it doesn't work well with the timeline they've created or bits of backstory they've created for Voight or Erin. Nor is it an appropriate reflection of the relationship with Hank's wife that has been created. Nor do I feel it's reflective of Hank's character on the show — or the circumstances they seem to be insinuating. But the writers and/or network don't seem to care that much about continuity anymore. So it won't surprise me in the least if they go that way. Even though I feel it sort of wrecks the characters, their backstories, their dynamic and ultimately the show.**

 **I also feel that the relationship and backstory of the characters was much more interesting in the concept that Voight "rescued" Erin and she wasn't biologically his. And it revealed a lot more about his character (and the character of his wife) than the way they were going. And created an interesting dynamic between him and Erin. It was an interesting way to play it. And it's disappointing they appear to be moving away from that and going with a more predictable and mainstream/boring route.**

 **Other question … yes, I may still continue to pick away at Aftermath. There's other chapters I had wanted to do. And, yes, I still do have chapters previously planned to finish out the Christmas (which were important to this Erin's father subplot and Bunny stuff). And, yes, I did have planned where Aftermath was going to end — which was going to be in early January/ Hank's birthday period. And was going to depict progress in their family's re-establishment and relationship and Jay and Erin's relationship. So, yeah, I might still come back to it here and there. Maybe.**

 **I did want to do this chapter now — as it was one I had wanted to do previously. But with the lead up to the finale, it might be something that I want to play with in So It Goes. So I wanted to start to set up where things are at with that storyline in this AU before the series goes there and potentially wrecks everything.**

 **And, yes, I do still intend to work on So It Goes here and there. As there's time and inspiration. Yes, I still intend to wrap up Florida. I'm a little stuck on how to do the chapters that I want to do — not in terms of ideas but just in terms of how to structure them.**

 **And, with SIG, I currently have a Erin/Hank and and Hank/Jay chapter set before the Florida trip that I'd like to do. So I may end up writing them before getting back to wrapping up Florida. Or I might skip around a bit in Florida (i.e. I really want to do a Hank/Al scene but it's a heavy one so having trouble getting to it, the Star Wars one and/or the harry Potter one might appear first or out of order since they'd be easier to write).**

 **And, no, I haven't watched this week's episode yet. I might get to it this weekend.**

 **And, yes, I still have more commentary about the last few episodes and what's going on with Erin/Jay and the season and series as a whole. But that requires time to write coherently. Plus I also just want to argue against "the stupid writers" argument — because I do feel that's both unfair and a lack of understanding about how network television works and who and where the control and decision-making lies with these kinds of things. So even though I agree the series has gone to poop — I don't entirely blame "the writers". And I actually feel bad for them — and slightly mad — when I hear/see people raging at them. But again, that's not something most people want to hear or seem to be able to wrap their heads around in how making a television show works. So it's not entirely worth spending time putting forth argument or discussion.**

 **Anyway, as always, feedback, reviews and comments — ON THE CHAPTER — are much appreciated.**

 **Hopefully there will be another update (likely in SIG) within three days to a week.**


	35. Shepherd's Pie

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER JUMPS AHEAD A COUPLE WEEKS FROM THE THANKSGIVING CHAPTERS INTO DECEMBER AND THE LEAD UP TO CHRISTMAS.**

Erin glanced up from her work at peeling the potatoes, eyeing Ethan sitting on the stool at the countertop across from her – staring at his phone rather than his homework that he had in front of him.

"What are you doing?" she put to him.

He didn't even look up. "There's only a five minute wait at the Jurassic Park ride right now," he reported. And then he did catch her eyes. They were mixed with some defiance but a touch of nervousness. He knew he was supposed to be doing his schoolwork – not screwing around on the phone. "And Harry Potter is only fifteen."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "If you don't put your phone down and start working on your homework, it's going to be a no wait-time, Ethan, because you aren't going to get to go."

The defiance set into his eyes more firmly. He looked back to his phone again, swiping his thumb around and staring at it again. "It's ten minutes for the Star Wars ride at the Disney World park," he said – with tone. An added emphasis to stress to her that he wasn't listening. He was doing what he wanted in that moment.

She stooped to catch his eyes. He gave her a cautious glance. The nervousness flickering into them again.

They were playing this game a lot anymore. Ethan trying to be a teenager. Him trying to push back against anything she said. To not listen to her as an adult in his life – to try her dismissively. But maybe that was how he treated most adults anymore. No divergence for authority.

But he wasn't very good at it. He'd out on the defiance but then would be too timid to stand his ground for long. She suspected because he knew most of the time, he didn't have much of a leg to stand on. But the consistent stand-offs were getting to be a little much. She could do without them. They were just a headache she didn't need.

"Do I need to take that away from you?" she pushed at him directly.

He huffed at her. But he stood down – because as much as he played the defiant kid – he knew that she had follow through. He knew who won. And it wouldn't be him. So he put it down on the counter, picking up his pencil and tapping it against his notebook, gazing at her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She cocked her eyebrow farther. "What's it look like?"

He shrugged. "What are you making?" he asked instead.

"Shepherd's Pie," she muttered at him.

The tapping stopped and he gazed at the peeling and chopping she'd been doing like he almost hadn't realized it was vegetables for a meal – that she'd be cooking and that they'd be eating. But that would be very Ethan. He could get such tunnel vision sometimes. Be so fucking oblivious. And then just when you thought he was living off in some different world. Some Ethan Land in that damaged head of his – he'd say something or make some sort of observation that showed he'd been watching all along. Likely more closer than you wanted to. But then there'd be moments like this. Where he had this complete blank stare that said he hadn't even noticed it was happening right in front of him.

"Dad's recipe?" he asked and then quickly added, "I only like Dad's."

She let out her own exasperated noise at that and stared at him. "Dad's recipe," she confirmed with some annoyance.

Because she hated that still everything came back to Hank. That even now it was Hank who did things right. That she did things wrong. That in some way she always would – because she wasn't his dad. That he'd fight her tooth and nail on so many things and then quote his father back to her like scripture. Like he was the fucking second-coming.

That was going to be quite the pedestal drop some day. She'd thought Hank had taken that tumble already with Ethan. With Justin. With all that had happened. All the conflict and the fallout and the emotions boiling. But he'd seemed to have clung to the edge and to have pulled himself back up.

That Ethan seemed to still hold Hank in some sort of high regard. To cling to him – just as much as Hank had managed to cling to that edge before falling into the abyss. That she'd helped pull him back from the edge. To pull him out. To keep Ethan from losing him – because he'd already lost so much and he was still just a little kid. That he still needed his father.

And she understood that. She knew that. You needed a parent. Hank was Eth's father. He was what – who - Eth had left. For better or worse. For all he fucking was and wasn't. And what he really could be.

And Erin could relate in her own way.

It's hard to let go. No matter how much your parents fucked up. No matter how badly. How much you hated them in a particular moment. How much you hated the things they did. Or the way they were. How much you hated who they were – they were still your parents. Your blood. They'd made you – who and what you were too. For better or worse too.

And she was the same way with Bunny.

But at the same time, she couldn't understand. She couldn't understand how after all that had happened – all the fights and tears and tempers – that fall, that it was Hank that Ethan still clung to. It was him he wanted. Him he seemed to have forgiven. Him that Eth embraced. And she couldn't rectify that in her own head. No matter how much he'd done for her. Or how much she'd done for him. She couldn't bring herself to step over that edge and fully embrace him as "dad" again. As her father figure. As the guy who raised her. She couldn't look at him and not feel like she was looking at someone she didn't know. Or worse – someone she hated. Someone she didn't want to associate with. She couldn't forgive and she couldn't forget. Not after what she'd been pulled into. What he'd pulled their family into. She couldn't just pretend it was over and done and move on like nothing had happened. It had happened. It still woke her up at night. And she was prepared for it to continue to wake her up for the rest of her life. That it was going to haunt her dreams and her waking.

Ethan just stared at her work on the potatoes again, though. "Dad makes it with sweet potato," he informed her with that fucking teenager tone he got anymore that pissed her off to no end. Daily. Or at least the days she had interactions with him. He'd even managed to figure out how to get the fucking tone and attitude into his texts at that point.

But the attitude-ridden comment still managed to stop her mid-peel. "I thought you liked potatoes better," Erin said.

Another shrug. Always the fucking shrugs. So much for the family counseling teaching them how to communicate better. If anything, it'd likely taught Eth how to shrug more and how to grunt just like his dad like that summarized everything you needed to know if any conversation.

"I'm only supposed to eat potatoes like twice a week," he managed to provide.

She sighed heavily and put down the knife and the potato, staring at him more firmly. Because one thing they did take seriously was Ethan's diet. They had to. And Hank was on a fucking tear about it again. Sometimes she thought it wasn't just the job that Hank needed. It wasn't the work and the cases that was giving him the distractions he wanted or needed. The purpose he wanted or needed. It was having to hold together the pieces at home too. Having to manage Ethan's health. And in some way that reality was making the two of them even more dependent on each other. Cling to each other more. It was some sort of paradox.

"Have you eaten them twice this week?" she asked.

Another fucking shrug. "No," he said flatly.

She picked up the knife again and returned to her peeling. "I'm making it with potatoes."

"I might want to eat them tomorrow at Eva's party," he pressed at her – again with a tone to it.

She gave him a small glance. "I thought her birthday party was at a donut place?"

"No," Ethan said – like she was stupid. And he was really working on making her feel that way some days. "It's at a wing place."

She looked at him more firmly. "Since when?"

"Since always," he said.

She shook her head. "Not since always. Your dad told me—"

"Eva told me today!" he spat at her harder.

"That's not since always," she said and gave him another firm glance, catching his eyes. "I'm making it with potatoes."

"What it I want to eat chips at the Christmas party or fries at Eva's party?" he demanded.

She shrugged – let him see how he liked it. "Then I guess you'll have to decide if eating potatoes three times a week is worth it."

He huffed at her loudly and glared. But she ignored him. Sometimes that was the best tactic with him. If the behavior wasn't getting the attention he wanted – it was usually fairly short-lived unless he was in an all out tantrum. Though, those had seemed to have calmed. It would've been nice when they calmed, the tone and attitude hadn't replaced them. But apparently that was just something she was going to have to live with for the foreseeable future – and beyond.

Unfortunately for him, his glaring meant he was watching her work. And she'd let that last for about another five seconds. Then his chance at doing his homework would vanished and he'd get to help her prepare the meal instead

"Are you trying to impress Jay with being able to cook or something?" Ethan said. Again with that teen-aged tone.

It was her turn to give him a glare. To drill it into him. Because she could hand it out just as well as he could deliver it. She was a professional glarer. She was paid to let people know how unimpressed she was with their actions – and to look into their eyes while she was doing it.

But even with that, the truth was Jay liked seeing she wasn't completely incompetent in the kitchen. That she knew how to do more than boil water or just a microwave. A kettle and toaster. Put milk in cereal. Though, those still remained among her personal favorites – and old standbys.

But the reality was that she hadn't liked that Jay was starting to show her up in the kitchen. Him being a health-nut and all healthy with his dietary choices was one thing. But him suddenly learning how to cook for Eth and doing it over at Hank's place to the point that Hank had made comments about how it was a good thing she'd found a man who could cook – that was another.

Erin was more than a little competitive – almost especially with Jay. And he wasn't going to win the kitchen competition. She might not be a Martha Stewart. But she could manage. She'd feed herself since she was about six years old. May younger. And she'd had weekly meal prep on her chore chart while she was at the Voights. She'd learned how to do a lot more than scramble eggs, heat up soup and boil pasta from Camille. She could make a meal. If she had to.

And she'd admit – even though cooking and baking would never be among her favorite things to do or suddenly become some sort of hobby or go-to activity or skill to show-off and pass time – there was something satisfying about putting a meal on the table that your little brother scarffed down or your fiancée expressed he had really enjoyed. To see the leftovers get claimed for lunch the next day. Or disappear as a midnight snack. Or to have either of the guys specifically request that she repeat some plate she'd put on the table.

Not that she was ever going to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. She wasn't going to be a housewife or a stay-at-home mom or kitchen maven – but she didn't mind preparing a meal on occasion. And with settling into the townhouse, her and Jay had been doing more of that.

The kitchen was bigger and nicer. And what was left of their paychecks each month in anything that resembled a disposal income was smaller. So spending that money on takeout or eating out seemed like less of an option. A treat rather than a regular occurrence. So they were both taking turns in the kitchen more. But she liked some of his dishes too. And liked just coming home and spending quiet time preparing a meal together, then eating together after a long shift or a frustrating or depressing day. Maybe more time in the kitchen and at the dinner table – or the couch in their case – was the way it should be. Or that it would be. At least for now.

"You're getting close to being the one who gets to make dinner, Ethan," she warned.

He made a small noise and looked back to his homework, swiping at some of the pages in his textbook and staring absently before watching her work again.

"Max said that the lines were super long when he went to Florida," Ethan informed her. Apparently still not ready to listen and still not ready to work. "Like forever."

"Eth," she muttered, not even looking at him, "for a kid like Max, a fifteen minute wait is going to be forever." Not just for him – but for his family and likely for all the people around him, she thought. But she didn't say.

"He made it sound like it was for an hour or something," Ethan pressed.

She gave him another small glance and a little shrug. "It's December. It's likely near closing. The lines are probably shorter."

"So you think they'll be super long in the summer?" Ethan asked.

"I don't know," Erin said. "Research it." But then she gave him firm eyes. "After you're done your homework," she added.

He huffed at her, dropping his hand from his reach for his phone. "Well, if it's going to be super long lines in the summer, maybe we should go on spring break," he tried. Because now was the appropriate time to broach that – apparently. He was clearly oblivious to how obnoxious he'd just been being.

She shook her head. "You forgetting that you going at all is contingent on you reading the books?"

And at the rate he was going, he likely wasn't going to be done the books by the summer. So then her and Jay were going to have to make a decision on if he still got rewarded. It'd be pretty mean if they didn't. But nights like this – she didn't feel so bad about making that decision and pulling the plug. Because nights like this, it still felt like he needed a reality check more than not.

"Maybe I could read the books better if I didn't have to do as much homework," Eth muttered.

She gave him another look. "The trip is contingent on your doing well in school too, Ethan. So I think you should be a little more concerned about getting your homework done, based on the report card you brought home."

He flared his nostrils and cast her another dirty look. "There's only seven books. I'll be done by spring break. It's in April," he completely ignored the homework part of the statement.

Because she was pretty sure they all acknowledged that the him doing 'well in school' part of the equation was going to have to be pretty fucking flexible in its terms and parameters if they were going to take him on his trip. Ethan did not to well in school.

Though, sometimes lately she wondered how much of that had to do with his attitude more than his learning delays. Hank argued, though, they were going hand-in-hand. That the frustration and disappointment Eth was feeling at the continuing failures that Iggy's was handing him was making him acted out more. Give more lip and attitude to the teachers. That it was spilling into home-life. Erin wasn't sure if she entirely agreed. But it wasn't her kid. Unfortunately, she still had to deal with him multiple days a week, though. And the fucking kid knew that what his dad said still took more precedence over anything she said in most cases.

"Have you looked at the last couple books, Ethan?" she pressed. "You aren't going to be able to read them in a month."

"If you helped more, I would," he argued.

Erin shook her head. "That's not the deal. We're all reading them by ourselves. Talking about them after. That's how a book club works."

Ethan made another frustrated noise. "Dad's not helping me either," he mumbled.

"Because he understands the deal we have," Erin put flatly.

At least Hank was supporting her in something in that area. Though, he wasn't overly supportive of the trip. Maybe he'd be the one who pulled the plug on all of it. Argued that Ethan hadn't met the requirements for the prize. Then maybe he could be the bad guy. He was anyway. Let Ethan see it. It was about time.

But all she got at her comment was another deep breath of annoyance and a side-glance. But Ethan did go back to gazing at his textbook for several moments and did manage to write something down in his notebook. So that was progress over the good ten minutes he'd been sitting there with nothing written on the page.

She watched as he puttered on a few of the questions. Slowly. But anything to do with Ethan and schoolwork was a painfully slow process. He seemed to have settled back into it, though, and she put more of her attention back on her meal prep, only to realize he was staring at her again.

"What?" she demanded passively.

"Are you going to come over on Sunday?" he asked.

She gave him a little glance and graced him with another shrug. "I don't know," she said. It was pretty much a no. Enduring dinner at Hank's house on a Sunday had become about a once a month obligation. To appease everyone. But she'd be having to go over there enough in December. She wasn't going to randomly go over to eat a meal. Not when she could be in her own home. Doing things she wanted to be doing with her own time.

"Me and Dad are going to do the Christmas tree on Sunday," Ethan tried. The attitude was disappearing. It only confirmed that he knew how to turn the tone on and off. And likely confirmed he knew when he shouldn't be using it if he wanted to have any chance to get what he wanted. He wasn't as stupid or oblivious as he could seem. He was only as stupid and oblivious as he wanted to be in a given moment.

But she just grunted at his effort. Let him get the reply that him and his dad liked so much. Because it was really all she had to say about that.

Eth just kept looking at her, though, shifting on the stool to gaze behind him, looking around the front room.

"Christmas is like in two weeks," he said flatly and turned back. "Are you and Jay going to decorate?"

She shrugged. "Neither of us really have Christmas decorations to put out."

He gazed at her. "You could buy some," he said.

She shook her head. "We don't have a lot of money right now for those kinds of things, Ethan," she said flatly.

He considered her more. "Then maybe you should come and help me and dad put up the tree," he said and added firmly. "It's basically tradition."

She took a deep breath. She was getting sick of this tradition line he kept spouting. Nothing about the holidays this year felt like the past. And she felt like a lot of the traditions – and memories – that had been established around the holidays, should be allowed to die with Justin and with the man who'd killed him. Let it all get buried in a hole in the ground that Hank had dug for all of them.

She didn't get a chance to try to frame some sort of reply. One that maybe he'd accept this time. Instead, he asked nervously, "Are you getting Dad a Christmas present?"

The deep breath she'd just taken got sighed out and she went back to her peeling. "Do you need me to take you put to pick something for your dad?" she asked instead, dodging his question. Trying to dodge this whole conversations. Trying to avoid the holidays as much as possible. Ethan was making it a difficult task. She'd known he would. But it was harder than she'd expected. He wasn't dropping it.

"No," Ethan said flatly. "Jay took me."

Her eyes came up and squinted at him. "What? When?" she asked.

Ethan shrugged. "After-school on one of his days," he said.

Erin made a small noise of acknowledgement. Though, she'd be asking Jay more about that later – because he hadn't mentioned it. Which made her wonder what else he hadn't mentioned. Things he might've said – or worse promised – to her little brother.

"So are you?" Eth pressed at her.

"Am I what?" she played dumb, even though she knew exactly what he was asking. She just didn't feel like participating in this discussion. At all.

"Getting Dad a present?" he asked again.

She glanced at him. "Why's it matter?" she put to him.

Ethan gazed at her with sad eyes. "Because it's Christmas," he told her quietly.

She let out a long breath and put down the produce, looking at him. She didn't know how to answer. Not without hurting him or breaking him. Which wasn't what she was trying to do. She just … didn't want to grin and bear it. She didn't want to pretend. She didn't want to play nice with Hank. She didn't want to get him a gift as some sort of expression of her appreciation or love or devotion to him. Because she didn't feel any of those things.

She just didn't want to put in the effort. Because even minimal effort – getting him the annual book and yet another shirt – would plant the seeds that they were moving toward being alright. And she wasn't sure they were.

It didn't matter what circles they talked in at family counseling. What got said or was left unsaid. That they spent some time together in his home. Or they went to Ethan's parent-teacher conferences. Or that she was still invested in her little brother's life and his health. Or that she still worked in Hank's unit.

That didn't mean they were OK. And she didn't want him to start thinking they were. Hoping they were. They still had a long, long way to go before any of this could feel … almost normal. And normal wasn't even the word she wanted to use. Maybe it'd be better to say that it'd be a long time before any of this stopped feeling. That it got to the point that she could numb herself enough that it didn't feel like the welts were still fresh on her skin.

Eth looked at her. "I know Justin used to give you money so you could buy the gifts from all of us," he said with this nervousness again. "I can't give you as much as him. But I can give you some, if you want."

She made a quiet amused sound but there was a sadness to it too. "Eth, if you already got you dad a gift, you don't need to be giving me money to get him something else."

"Well, I can if it means you'll get him something," he said.

She sighed at him and turned to go to the stove – to start boiling the potatoes. To not have to look at her brother – the heartbreaker.

"Dad's likely going to be a little sad if you don't get him something, Erin …," Ethan said quietly behind her. "It can be just be really small. It's not the price tag. It's the thought."

She gazed at the counter at that and turned to go back and retrieve the diced potatoes. She cast Eth a look as she did. "Don't worry about it," she put to him.

He caught her eyes but she didn't keep them. She couldn't. She turned back to the stove.

"Does that mean you aren't going to do his stocking this year either?" he asked mutedly.

She put the skillet on the stovetop to start getting ready to sauté the turkey and onions and various spices. "Your dad does his own stocking," she said. Or rather lied.

And Ethan knew it.

"He just does some of it. I know you put stuff in it too. The nice stuff and the fun stuff that he wouldn't buy for himself," Ethan said. "If we don't do it he'll just get soap and an orange in his."

"Ethan," she put more firmly, "your dad doesn't need anything. He doesn't want anything. He says as much every year."

"He needs to feel loved and cared about," Ethan whispered behind her and she turned to look at his defeated face. His sad eyes found hers again. "He's going to feel like you didn't think of him or don't care about him if you don't get him just something. You can even make it. He likes that. Or even just a card. Or something."

She sighed at him and walked back over to where he was sitting and put her hand over his. "Ethan, I don't want you worrying about this."

"I am worried," Eth sputtered. "That it's almost Christmas and it sounds like you aren't even going to come over at all."

"Ethan …," she warned.

"Well, you won't say anything about it," he said with an edge of anger. "And Jay won't tell me either."

She took her hand off his and rubbed at her eyebrow.

"Are you going to his dad's or Will's or something again?" Ethan demanded.

She shook her head and shrugged.

He squinted at her. "Are you spending it with that lady that's your mom?" There was a clear disgust to how he said it.

"No, Ethan," she put to him firmly.

"Then it's stupid for you not to come over," he shouted at her.

She arced her eyebrow in clear warning and he slouched against the counter a bit more.

"Don't you want your stocking? Or to have Dad's turkey and stuffing? And Mom's gingerbread cake?" he said with such defeat and confusion.

"We're engaged," she put to him firmly.

"You've been engaged since last Christmas," he muttered at her, casting her hurt eyes.

"It's our first year in our house. We want to start some traditions of our own," she clarified. Or tried to.

"What traditions?" Ethan spat and gestured his arm off behind him. "You aren't even going to get a tree or put up any decorations."

"Not all Christmas traditions need a tree," she put flatly.

He glared at her. "What's that mean? That you want to have sex for Christmas?" he spat. "That's going to take all Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."

Her eyes laughed at that suggestion but she rubbed at her eyebrow and shrugged. "You'd be surprised," she said.

His eyes got a horrified look in them but that faded and he sulked, gazing at the countertop. "Don't you want your stocking? Or to see what I got you? Dad likely got you something too."

"I told Hank not to worry about it this year," Erin put to him.

"He won't listen," Ethan hissed at her again. "Even if you're still mad at him about whatever, he still loves you. He's going to get you a present and he will want to see you at Christmas. He always says that. He always says all he wants for Christmas is that he wants his family together. And to get along."

She gave a shrug. She tried to act indifferent. Tried again to shutdown to it. But the effort to that was almost too much and it was exhausting. "Well, Ethan, he hasn't gotten that in a long time," she put flatly.

His eyes welled. "And Mom being gone made him sad enough," his voice cracked. "You can't just leave us alone on Christmas with J gone now too. It will just make him even sadder."

"You'll cheer him up," Erin said and turned back to the stove.

"Don't you want to see Henry get his stocking and Santa present?" he demanded behind her.

"Ethan, he's still too little to know what any of that is," she muttered.

"He likes ripping the paper when you show him and playing with the bows," Ethan argued. "And Dad says he'll like the boxes. More than the toys. But I picked him something good, Erin. You should come and play with us too! You like playing with Henry."

"Ethan, I don't think Olive wants to be there Christmas morning either," she said. "They'll do their own thing. You'll see them … later. Dinner, maybe. I don't know."

She heard a sound and turned around to see Ethan struggling to hold back tears and swiping at his nose, only to rub whatever he'd managed to wipe away there into his eyes.

"Well, Santa is STILL leaving a present and a stocking for Henry at the house for WHENEVER THEY DO COME OVER!" he spat at her, and pushed himself off the stool.

"Where are you going?" she sighed at him.

"Why'd you even convince Olive to come home and for us to be a family again if you were just going to leave then?" he sputtered at her.

It punched at her gut. "I didn't convince her to come back to Chicago," she said flatly. Even though there was some lie to that too. And she didn't want Ethan to know the real reasons behind it. That it hadn't been about Olive. That it'd been about him and about Hank and about Henry. That it was them she did that for. And that that was gift enough to Hank. She'd done more than enough for him that year. All her debts were paid – and then some – forever. He was indebted to her now. Whether he wanted to acknowledge that or not.

"You did!" Ethan yelled. "You gave her your condo."

"She's renting my condo," she shrugged. Keep the facts straight. Or semi-straight. It was more complicated than that. But Ethan didn't need to know the logistics of it all. He apparently didn't care either because he started to storm away again."Where are you going?" she called after him again – more loudly.

"Home," he sputtered.

"Ethan," she called at him a bit more harshly, "you aren't going home. We have you tonight."

He spun, leaning on his one crutch and glaring at her. "I don't belong to you! You don't get me to ship me back and forth like some sort of divorced kid. I'm not your kid! I'm Dad's!"

She shrugged. "Fine. But he was planning on taking a break from being a dad tonight and going—"

"That's not how it works!" Ethan spat. "He's my dad! He doesn't get to take breaks! And he doesn't want to! He takes care of me and he looks after me! And he does you too! And he doesn't care if I want to come home! He wants you home too! He wants both of us home! And Henry! And Olive! And Jay!"

"Calm down," she warned in her own even tone.

He just glared. Or tried to. His glassy eyes weren't making it was effective as he likely wanted. "I get mad at him all the time too," he whined. "We fight and he makes me upset and I don't want to see him or talk to him sometimes. But I still love him! I still want to spend Christmas with him!"

"And that's fine," she said. "You will. But you're here tonight."

He moved back to the counter, reaching for his phone but she put her hand over it, pulling it closer to her. The last thing she needed was him calling or texting his dad. Making it seem like she couldn't handle a whiny, teary thirteen-year-old. Making Hank accuse her of having Ethan all riled up every time she returned him home when they'd been doing a lot better about that lately. It was just the holidays. They were going to have to accept there were going to be temper flares and tears in the next few weeks. Likely from all of them. And he didn't need to tell his dad about all of them. Because then Hank would drop whatever paperwork he was doing or drinks at the Social Club he was having and he'd come over in an instant to retrieve his son and glare at her.

"I'm going to my room," he spat at his blocked reach.

She gave a little nod. "That's a good idea. I think you should go calm down until dinner."

"I'm not hungry," he said.

She shrugged. "That's fine too," she said. "It's going to be a while before it's ready."

"I'm not eating it!" he told her. "Your recipe smells disgusting."

"It's your dad's recipe," she put flatly.

"I HATE Shepherd's Pie. Especially with potatoes," he pressed more defiantly.

She shrugged. "OK," she allowed. "But this isn't a restaurant. It's what's for dinner and you're going to eat some."

"I'm not," he argued.

She picked up his phone and shoved it into her pocket. "I want you to go upstairs and calm down," she said, turning back to the stove. "I'll call you when dinner is ready."

She could feel him glaring at her. She could hear his breathing and sniffles as he tried not to cry. But then he turned on his crutches and started clattering away in angry and broken steps.

"I don't want you coming to the Christmas Party tomorrow!" he yelled, as he got halfway up the stairs to the level his bedroom is on. "That doesn't get to be one of your new traditions either."

She didn't respond. She just listened to his awkward progress at making it up the stairs and him slamming the door to the room that had been designated as his.

Erin sighed harder and angrily tossed the cooking utensils to the counter. She hated the fucking holidays. Especially this year.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews and feedback are appreciated.**


	36. Moonlight

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER JUMPS AHEAD A COUPLE WEEKS FROM THE THANKSGIVING CHAPTERS INTO DECEMBER AND THE LEAD UP TO CHRISTMAS.**

Jay crept up the next set of steps. From the texts he'd been getting from Erin, he'd almost expected to find her down in the family room – his man cave – waiting for him to come in the garage door and ready to pounce in a verbal dump of all her frustrations with Eth that night. But she hadn't been there. She hadn't been on the main level of the house either.

The whole building was actually quiet enough that he'd pulled his phone out to see if he'd missed a message and she'd really decided to cut ropes and bail. To take Eth back to Hank's and to just let him deal with the mental and emotional fallout of the kid trying to express his frustrations with the entire situation they were living in. The kid's frustrations had just seemed to be rising. They really had been since about mid-September – the couple weeks leading into his brother's birthday. And then Halloween. And then Thanksgiving. But they'd really been nearing a boiling point lately as the kid realized that things weren't working out the way he wanted. That everyone wasn't just going to be able to grin and bear it and move on with doing re-enactments of previously family traditions. The lot of them were broken and no one seemed to have the energy anymore at this point to even attempt the illusion – or delusion – that Eth seemed to so desperately want to create.

He hadn't missed anything, though. So he was starting to think that whatever arguments and back-and-forth Eth and Erin had been having that night – it'd drained her enough that she'd actually gone up to bed at a descent hour. Though, her hitting the sack before midnight was pretty rare. But he'd be pretty grateful if she did decide to get some extra rack time. Even if it would've been better if she'd realized she needed it on her own rather than an argument with Ethan taking it out of her enough that she decided to just shut her eyes and to try to forget about it for eight hours. Not that that really worked either. They both didn't sleep much anymore. If it had used to be him who'd bolt a wake in the night and disturb her while he tried to orient and level himself – now it was her who was doing it just as often, or sometimes more. Not that she'd tell him what was haunting her dreams. But he had some pretty decent guesses.

Erin wasn't up on the fourth level in the master bedroom suite, though. She was leaning outside the open door of Eth's bedroom on the narrow third floor, the nightlight in the room casting an orange-yellow light against her. She turned at his creaks up the steps and gave him an exhausted look before her eyes shifted back in the door.

Jay went over and gazed in too. He'd been momentarily concerned that something more had been going on for her to be leaning in the doorway. With Eth and his health – you never knew. Scares could happen. And if he'd been having a fit and been being defiant about taking his medication – he could've sent himself over an edge. Though, he knew if something that concerning had happened, the kid wouldn't be there in bed. He'd be back over at Voight's – or over spending the night at the hospital waiting to get checked out. So it didn't look what was going on. The kid was passed out cold anyway. Quiet and small in the big bed.

"He OK?" Jay asked at a whisper, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe as the one Erin was slumped against.

"Yea," she allowed. "He wore himself out."

Jay just gave a little nod. He'd buy that. A school day did that to Eth anyway. A Friday? The end of a school week? Eth was pretty much always in fine form. He was just exhausted and frustrated from it all. Dreading the homework and projects that he'd be forced to work on for the weekend – and that he'd struggle with. Wanting to see his friends and participate in activities but barely being able to muster up the strength. Add in the start of the holiday hoopla and him getting invested in that and put in a dash of his own anxiety and stress about the Christmas preps and what Christmas was going to look like and it was starting to sound exhausting even from Jay's healthy standpoint. Combine it all with the kid having a shouting match with Erin and one of his pre-teen meltdowns and Eth was going to be worn out.

"How are you?" he asked Erin instead.

She shrugged. He didn't really need to ask. She'd sent enough texts that he knew how the night was going. He'd gotten the general gist of what was going on. Could hear her frustration even in the text. Could read between the lines of it. Seeing her now just confirmed it. The ongoing fatigue of dealing with a traumatized kid that wasn't there own but a lot of times felt a whole lot more like just her little brother. That they were carrying the good part of the load in trying to give Eth some stability. Trying to help him find some sort of footing to lead some sort of normal life. As much as that would be possible. Give him something that vaguely resembled a childhood. Set him up to come out of high school no more scathed than anyone else. But it was a lot of work. Took a whole lot of time and energy – especially with Eth arguging back and getting lippier. All this anger and frustration and angst of being a teenaged kid in a fucked up family that you weren't quite sure how to exist in. He'd been there.

He reached out. His hand sliding up her arm. Her bicep. Her shoulder. Her neck. Her chin. Until he V'ed his fingers – cradling her chin and her ear and tilting her head, as he stooped a few inches to find her lips. He kissed her. Lightly. Softly. She returned it and he could feel her smile gently into it. Could feel some of the tension he saw in her body melt away. And he knew that feeling too.

She didn't deepen the kiss, though. Didn't open up her lips for him. Kept it pretty innocent. Fairly chaste. Still, she pulled back from him just slightly, giving him a slightly embarrassed and nearly shy look. Her hand grabbed at his bicep, pulling his hand away from its favorite place and lacing her fingers with his. She pushed up and away from where she was leaning, giving his arm a small tug to follow her back down to the main level – not up to their bedroom.

"I don't want to wake him," she whispered in her own quiet tone.

He allowed a little nod. Part of him would rather be heading upstairs. But maybe her inferring she wanted to – or needed to – talk about whatever had gone on that night was a good thing. A lot of times she didn't want to talk enough.

She let go of his hand as they got back downstairs, trailing over to the little alcove in the living room that they'd gotten all set up with their sound system. Stereo, speakers, turntable, vinyl collection and even some CDs that neither of them had been able to let go from their teens despite having all the albums and songs digitalized and pretty much never putting in a disc.

He watched as she started to flip through the one bin of records – clearly looking for something and not just browsing. Or maybe she just wanted music on. They often had it going when they were on that floor and the TV wasn't on. Actually, for all her insistence that she wanted to keep both of their TVs and she wanted hers set up on that floor – once again above the fucking fake fireplace, which again wasn't his definition of form or function of either device – the television in that room rarely went on. For all her arguing that the room on the ground floor – technically their "basement" that half-taken up with their garage – was a "cave" and she wouldn't be joining him down there ever, she'd pretty much been proven a liar. Because the space had two fucking big windows that opened right out onto their little green-plot and patio. Lots of light. And even though it was just the space they tramped through to get upstairs after parking the car, it'd become a comfortable spot. It was hardly the kind of "man cave" that he might've established for himself if he had exclusively reign over the space. And, he'd actually venture to say that the new flat-screen had won her over. That she'd come to realize that the picture was better, the screaming options were better, and even with the sound just coming out of the crappy built in speakers right now – it was better too. So she'd more-often than not join him down there to watch a show or a flick or a game than she was to stay upstairs. Though, he also suspected that might have more to do with just spending time together than her admiration of the new TV.

Still, with her distraction, he wandered over to the gas fireplace and flicked it on. At least this fireplace was slightly more than decorative. And it actually did a nice job at heating up the place – even if it still wasn't his definition of a fireplace.

"Did you eat?" she called at him and he glanced over to see her looking at him over her shoulder. "There's leftovers in the fridge."

He just gave a little nod of acknowledgement. He'd eaten some of the usual cop shop crap on his breaks and even though he wasn't much for eating this late at night, getting something that resembled real food into him sounded like a descent plan.

He treaded into the fridge and pulled open the door, gazing inside. He quickly spotted the casserole pan and pulled it out, peeling back the tinfoil. Was hardly a dent put into the Shepherd's Pie. But he'd already been briefed on that part of the night's confrontation.

"This looks great, babe," he offered in her direction, as he turned to retrieve a plate.

"Ethan didn't think so," she muttered from her continued search.

"He was just being an ass," Jay told her, as he set the plate on the counter and grabbed a serving spoon to start piling up a heaping portion.

"Apparently I made it wrong," Erin said. "He likes it with sweet potatoes."

He glanced at her. "I like it with potatoes," he said.

She just gave a grunt. And he wasn't going to argue the point. It'd only make her feel like he was giving her lip service. Which he was and he wasn't. He saw how she prickled when Voight or Eth gave her shit about her cooking abilities. And she really wasn't that bad – when she actually cooked and she really had been trying a lot more lately with them having Eth at their place a couple nights a week. And, beyond that, he really did prefer the dish with white potatoes. Sweet potatoes were a side dish – dessert, basically. Unless they were out at Thanksgiving with marshmallows and sugar and cinnamon, he really could take them or leave them. He supposed in some ways – even if he was more health conscious about his body and the kinds of carbs he put into them – his affinity for white potatoes was the Irish in him coming out. The meat and potatoes kid he'd grown up as. Shepherd's Pie – that was meat and potatoes at its finest.

So he just popped it into the microwave without further comment and pulled open the fridge door again, gazing inside.

"Er, we got HP sauce?" he called back at her, glancing over his shoulder.

She caught his eyes with some disgust. "It's ground turkey, not beef."

"I know," Jay allowed. It wouldn't be anything else with Eth. He went back to shoving around the few condiments they had in the fridge's door around.

Supposed it'd make sense they didn't have HP sauce. Not like they'd been in the place long enough to have a full grocery store of condiments occupying their kitchen. And it wasn't exactly grilling weather anymore. Not that they'd had the surplus cash to invest in a grill yet either. That could be something they talked about in the spring or summer when the sting of the mortgage had started to settle more and more into their new normal in defining their monthly income. And when the frivolous TV purchase had faded more from their memories.

"I'll just use ketchup," he muttered. It was more to himself than anyone but she'd overheard.

"That's disgusting too," she replied.

He just raised and cocked an eyebrow at her, giving the bottle a couple good shakes. She shook her head at him and went back to flipping through the albums.

"What you looking for?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Something that feels right for the kind of night it's been."

He allowed a quiet sound of amusement and turned to the fridge again. "You want a beer?"

"Yea …," she muttered.

He grabbed two bottles and popped off the lids, taking hers over to her, setting it on a coaster that had taken up near permanent residence next to the sound system – just further proving how much time the two of them spent standing in that little alcove. It was probably one of his favorite spots in the house. After the master bedroom. And the walk-in shower. But likely ahead of that spot on the couch in front of the flat-screen downstairs.

She offered him a small smile of thanks and he wrapped his arms around her, gazing at her slow, restless flips through the album. She knew them all by heart anyway – and they'd organized them alphabetically since the move. She didn't really need to flip through – if she knew what she was looking for. He placed a kiss against her neck just under her ear.

"That one," he told her, as she flipped again. She shifted her head up at him, giving him an arched eyebrow. "Definitely a Van Morrison kinda night."

She made an amused noise but moved to pull the record out. "If you say so," she said.

"I do," he allowed, and placed another kiss in the same spot before reluctantly letting her go and heading back over to the microwave that was beeping that it was done heating up his food.

By the time he'd retrieved his plate and grabbed his beer – Erin had gotten the record going. One from Voight and his wife's collection, not one they'd dug out of some flea market or vinyl shop. She'd gone to spread out on the couch, sipping at her bottle. He joined her on the opposite end – giving himself some space to eat in an effort to avoid her commentary about him adding ketchup to the mix. But her feet still immediately rammed under his thigh. Cold. Her feet were always so fucking cold.

He set his beer down on the end table and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch – draping it over her and tucking it around her lower legs and the extent of her feet that he could access from where she'd hidden them. She managed to tuck some of it around herself too. But she then went to staring at the flickering flames and listening to the music as he tucked into his plate of food. He was OK with that for the moment, managing to get in several bites before she decided she was ready to say anything.

"How was it?" she asked.

He nodded and swallowed. "OK," he allowed.

She rubbed at her eyebrow, holding her beer just away from her lips. "Going to sign up for any of the training courses?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Did it seem like a good fit?" she pressed.

He let out a slow breath and shrugged. "Don't know. Need to think about it some more."

She gazed at him. "Doing the training doesn't mean you have to transfer," she said.

"I know," he allowed and looked back to his plate. "I'm going to talk to Lewis about it more next week. Get a clearer picture."

"Seems like a natural fit," she said, arching her eyebrow and taking a swig of her beer.

"Maybe," he allowed again. Truth was he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the info night he'd attended. More of a show and getting to play with the toys than an info night in a lot of ways.

SWAT. They were interested in him. Interested in his military background. His skills from the Rangers. What he'd been doing in Intelligence. Reality was he could likely easily land in the next open spot on the team, if he wanted it. If he was willing to go and sit through some of the mandatory courses and training – a lot of which was stuff he already knew. Things he'd already trained in. Close quarters combat, explosive entry, sniping, negotiation techniques, fast roping. It wasn't exactly new. A lot of it was review. But he supposed he could use a refresher.

He just wasn't sure how interested he was in the job. It seemed like it would be a gig that had some intense moments. Some rewarding moments. But that it would be a lot of waiting for those. Few and far between. Getting called in to work other people's cases – not driving your own. And the kind of jobs you did? Active shooters, hostage rescue, counter terrorism, protective services, riot control. He wasn't sure he wanted to get too wrapped up in any of that as part of his daily existence. He'd explored other units – other opportunities – in CPD that might be more suited to him. Maybe more what he wanted to do with his life. More rewarding. Less dangerous in some ways – as a husband or when he was a father. When his wife was going to be on the job too. But all that was contingent on if – when – he did request a transfer.

The talk of that – among them … among all of them really – seemed more lately. First Mouse. Now Dawson. From some overheard murmurings, was really starting to suspect that it was only going to be a matter of time before Adam bailed on them. It was starting to be less of a discussion about what it meant if you left and more about what it meant if you stayed. What it meant to the people who stayed and their allegiances to Voight? What that meant long-term for their careers? If they wanted to be among the ones still there? If it made sense for them to stay or go? If it made more sense for him to leave and Erin to stay? Which she seemed to feel was best more and more. Because that way she could keep an eye on Voight. She could have some sense about where things were at, what skeletons might be being dug up. That she'd decided her choices – decisions – had tied the rest of her career with the CPD to him. That now she truly was Voight's girl – more than ever before. But that he didn't have to stay there because of that. That he shouldn't. That one of them should escape.

It was the sort of depressing roundabout conversation that he didn't want to get into again that night. Because no matter what they decided, they were both going to be losers in some capacity.

"Tell me about tonight," he put to her instead.

She just made a sound and shoved her cold feet more fully under him. "He doesn't want us to chaperone the Christmas party tomorrow anymore."

Jay shrugged. "He'll forget he said that by morning. You know how he is. Be a new kid after he gets some sleep."

"Yea, maybe," she muttered and took another tug from her bottle.

"You tell Voight what was going on with him?" Jay asked.

She shook her head and shoved her hand under the blanket, digging into her pocket, only to retrieve Eth's phone, flapping it briefly in his direction before tossing it none too gently onto the coffee table. "Confiscated his phone too."

"Good job," Jay gave her a thin grin.

She made an exasperated noise, though, and ran her hand through her hair. "I need this month to be over," she muttered.

"Thinking that way about it is only going to make it go slower," he told her with a forkful of food hovering in front of his mouth. He nodded his appreciation at her as he did put it in. "Erin, seriously, he was being a little fuck. This is way better than the diarrhea Voight calls Shepherd's Pie."

She humored him with a little smile, putting her one arm along the back of the couch as she gazed at his eating. "He said you took him out to get a Christmas present for his dad?"

Jay cast her a look and shrugged, looking back to his plate. "Didn't really take him out. Stopped in a store after rock climbing this week. Eth picked something out there."

"What?" Erin inquired.

"Ask Eth," he told her flatly.

"I did," she retorted. "He wouldn't say."

Jay shrugged.

"What they hell kind of store would you be taking him into? Groceries? Pharmacy?"

Jay shook his head.

"Comic book store? Video game? Lego?"

He raised his eyebrow at her. "If you're really that curious, maybe you should start planning on showing up on Christmas Day to see what he picked out for Voight."

"I don't care that much," she muttered and took another long swig.

He gazed at her and leaned over to settle his plate on the coffee table, rubbing at her feet now that his hands were free. "Think you do or you wouldn't be asking about it."

Erin ran through her hair and looked at him. "He's just been at me about Christmas. Every time I see him. It's getting … frustrating. He won't take no for an answer."

"I don't think you've actually told him 'no', babe," he told her gently. "I don't think you've really told any of us what you want to do. I think that's where a lot of the frustration and anxiety is coming from. It's just making everything more stressful for everyone."

"We'll see him on Christmas," she hissed at him and pulled her feet away from his hands.

"OK," he acknowledged. "You want to place some additional context around what that actually means?"

She let out a long breath and turned her head to gaze out the window. "I don't know," she finally muttered. "I was thinking that I'd co-ordinate with Olive. So we go over around the same time as her and Henry. Probably dinner?"

Jay allowed a little nod. "OK …"

Her eyes shifted back to his. "That doesn't sound OK to you?"

"I said 'OK'," he provided.

"It didn't sound like an OK," she muttered and took another swig of her beer.

Jay sighed and reached for his own beer, taking a long mouthful. "I guess I sort of feel like if we skip out on Christmas morning with Eth and with Henry, we're missing out on kind of the fun part of the day."

"We can do our own thing here," she pressed at him.

He gestured around the Spartan room. "What are we going to do here, Erin?"

She cocked her eyebrow at him, giving him a cocked head and a coy grin. He gave his head a little shake.

"Pretty sure we can fit that in at other points during the holiday period," he said.

She made a sound and took another swig from her bottle.

"How much of this is about Voight?" he asked. "Because I thought things were going OK on the work-front and with the counseling you two have been settling into … the new normal on the home-front."

"It's not normal," Erin muttered.

"And it's not ever going to feel any more normal if we don't keep on going over," he said.

She cast him a look. "Maybe it's not the kind of thing that should feel normal," she pressed.

He shrugged. "Fine," he allowed. "Because it's not ever going to really feel normal. But it doesn't mean that we can't work at being a family. For Eth's and Henry's sake."

"It's just an optical illusion," she said. "And all these 'traditions' that Eth wants for the holidays."

He shook her foot, drawing her scornful eyes. "Erin, I know living an illusion for someone in the family. I grew up in that," he pressed back. "That's not what Ethan is asking any of us to do. And it's definitely not what Voight is asking for. They're both just asking that the people they care about all be in the same room for a few hours on Christmas."

"And we will be," Erin glared. "At dinner."

Jay made his own frustrated sound and gazed at her. She tried to ignore him, going back to looking out the window.

"Eth told me—"

"I don't like that you're having all these conversations with him and not telling me about what you're talking about," she spat back harshly, her eyes darting to his.

He raised a warning eyebrow. "And I don't like when I become the monkey in the middle between you and Ethan or you and Voight." She made a noise and went back to looking out the window. "Erin, I spend time with him. I talk to him. He talks at me. He says shit to me about all that's going on that he thinks he can't say to you and Voight."

"He has lots of opportunity to say whatever the fuck he wants in a mediated way at the counseling," she muttered.

"Well, he clearly feels like there's things he still can't say there too," Jay told her and her eyes shifted to him with some sadness. "He told me about the Christmas his dad and his brother were in jail. And how he came home from school and it was just the two of you. How you tried to make it normal and special for him. But how he hated that whole holiday. And he's afraid that this year is going to be even worse."

Erin frowned at him. "It will be fine. Hank will do breakfast and stocking and presents with him. We'll go over in the late afternoon."

"Erin," he sighed and stretched his arm out along the top of the couch to find her hand, lacing his fingers with hers even though she initially tried to pull it away. "He's old enough and he's been through enough that he knows Christmas isn't about the presents. It's about the people you care about and spending time with them. That's what he wants. It's what Voight wants too."

"I don't care what Voight wants …" she mumbled, again moving her eyes from his.

Jay shook his head, taking another drink. "That's not true," he said and her eyes snapped to his. He kept them firmly. "Erin, we don't do everything we do for Eth, we don't go to his school crap and his medical appointments, we don't keep your condo and give it to Olive, get her and Henry to come back to the city because you don't care about Voight. Everything that you've done – within this family – since July 25 has been because you care about him."

"It did it – all of it – for Ethan," she argued.

He shook his head at her. "No, you haven't. However you feel about him and what choices you made because of what he did and what happened – it all comes back to you caring about him. And you insisting that you don't care – trying to make yourself not care – is just tearing you apart. It's stressful for our relationship. It's confusing for Ethan. And it's destroying the fragile family you've got left."

Her glare stayed on him. But she finally broke it, going back to staring out the window, tipping her beer against her lips as she did in a long gulp. "You're pissing me off more than Eth did tonight," she muttered as the bottle came away from her lips.

"What else is new?" Jay tried in a small tease, as he took his own sip.

She cast him an unimpressed look. He reached and tapped his fingers against the top of her hand again but that time she did pull it away.

"I really liked Christmas morning last year," he tried after they sat there for a while. "I can see why Eth wants to try to have that as best as he can." She just made a noise – somewhere between a sigh of exasperation and sadness. "You really mean to tell me that you want to miss out on all this stocking stuff?"

"Pretty sure we've got lots of toiletries," she muttered. "We don't need anymore."

"You seemed pretty excited about your toiletries and chocolate and socks last year," he said, tapping on her hand again.

"And, if you want, we can do our own stockings HERE," she stressed, casting him a look.

He nodded, giving a little shrug, and tipping another small sip of beer to his lips. "Sure," he allowed. "But think it likely loses something when you don't have a kid in the room."

"It's like you said," she provided. "Eth's thirteen. He's not going to be that excited about toiletries, chocolate he can't eat and likely won't get, and new socks."

Jay shrugged. "Eth is actually a pretty grateful kid and I'm pretty sure he'd managed to be excited if he had the right people in the room and was sharing the opening of the stockings with them. Will be way more focused on that than what's in it."

"He'll have his dad," Erin put flatly.

Jay let out a slow breath and shifted to gaze out the window with her too. The people in the townhouse across from them had their Christmas tree up. Their blinds were open – letting the neighbors see their twinkling lights through the windows. Was likely going to be as close as they got to having decorations in their house that year.

"I think being a single dad for a guy like Voight must be hard," he finally mumbled.

"Don't …," Erin warned.

He shifted his eyes to her. "I do," he said. "I see some of the things he does for Eth and sometimes I wonder if I'd be able to do as good of job if I was in his position."

Erin caught his eyes but then shifted them back out the window. "You'd do fine," she put flatly.

Jay shrugged. "I don't know. And especially with things like the holidays – still making it special. That's not really guy territory. But it seems like he's really tried. Still give you guys a Christmas and birthdays and just holidays and time together. Memories. Traditions."

"Ethan was still little when his mom died," Erin muttered.

"Yea," Jay acknowledged. "And he's still a kid now. On his first Christmas without his mom and without his brother. He doesn't want to have it without his sister too."

"We'll go over around dinner," Erin said more firmly, giving him more warning eyes.

"Will we?" he asked. She sighed at him. He reached for her hand. "I don't think this is all about Voight, babe."

She shifted her eyes to him. "I hate all this 'tradition' stuff Ethan is pushing," she blurted at him. "How he's trying to make it normal. How he's trying to make us do these traditions that are just going to feel … even more empty than with Camille gone."

He gave a little nod. "OK. So how about we start some new traditions?"

She made a frustrated gesture. "I told him that. That we want to start traditions of our own."

He kept her eyes. "OK, and how about one of them be that we invite the four of them over here? For Christmas morning."

She stared at him in disbelief and then shook her head hard. "No," she said.

He sunk back into his spot more. "Erin, you don't want to be in that house. I think that's what a bunch of this is about. I don't think Olive wants to be in there. And, you know, I think given the choice, Hank wouldn't mind being away from there for part of the day either."

She kept shaking her head. "Ethan wouldn't agree to that. It's not 'tradition'."

"Ethan will deal with just being where everyone is – because that's what he really wants. He just wants everyone together. Full stop," he put back to her.

She quieted, looking at him, the gears processing. Interest and protest painting across her face.

"We've got space," he put to her. "Multiple floors to keep people apart if we need breaks from each other. If we let them sleep here Christmas Eve—"

"We aren't doing that," she put bluntly.

He met her eyes. "You'd be able to see Eth and Henry doing the kid Christmas stuff in the morning when they get up," he continued.

Her eyes shifted back to gazing out the window and he gripped at her hand.

"Erin, we've got to stop treading water and start swimming again. Start living. We can't keep going like this. Forget what it's doing to Eth or to Hank. You're stressing yourself out. You're stressing me out. We need to finish off this year as best we can and just go into 2017 fresh. OK?"

And he really needed her to agree that it was OK. That that was a plan. Because they couldn't keep going the way they were. Something needed to give. Soon.


	37. Neat, Not Tidy

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER WHAT IS CURRENTLY CHAPTER 35 (MOONLIGHT). It will be reordered later.**

"You going to let him in," Hank called at his kid as he came up the hall.

He'd heard the fist pounding on the front door and his boy move out of the front room to answer it. Had sort of thought it was Halstead arriving to pick up Magoo but the lack of movement in the front hall or any chatter out of his boy had confirmed it wasn't. Instead the voice behind the, "Hey, your dad home?" had told him enough.

E looked over his shoulder at him. "It's not Jay," he said flatly. Had that stunned look on his face. But had been looking that way that night. Not one of Magoo's better days. Just tired, it seemed. Shorter days – less sunlight - and all the fucking temperature fluctuations likely weren't helping any either.

Hank grunted. "Astute observation, Magoo," he put to the kid, who continued to stare at him like a deer in headlights as he got to the door and pulled it the rest of the way open, gesturing for the guy to come in.

Kenny Rixton. Had been mildly surprised to get his call. But also wasn't. Didn't need to hear the spiel that he knew was coming to know what was coming.

"You're early," Hank put to him as he stepped into his house.

Kid – though not so much of a kid anymore. Would have to take a quick look at his file if things went any farther than this chitchat, but figured he must be pushing forty now. Looked it too. The job had done its job. Not a greenie anymore. Kid had grit anyway even when he'd gotten pulled into Gangs, but you could see it coming off him now. It had permeated him over the years. Supposed life had too. Or so he'd heard. Wasn't exactly on the list of people he kept in touch with. But cutting his ties with anyone in Gangs had been part of his get out of jail free card. Seemed like the best option at the time. Could only keep in touch with guys who spent huge chunks of their careers undercover so much anyway. And never too smart to get too chummy with your underlyings. Teach them right and send them on their way. Shift through the good ones and the bad ones. Figure out who the real police were. Kenny had been real enough back then.

"Know with you, if you aren't a half-hour early, you're late," Rixton put back to him. Bit too smugly. Apparently the job hadn't beaten that out of him quite yet.

"Mmm…," he grunted and gestured at the guy's boots. Wasn't going to be letting him track shit across his house and wasn't about to do this chitchat standing in the doorway. With Magoo staring at them. Rixton bent to tug at the laces. "Bit different when it's my house and personal time you're stepping into."

Rixton glanced up at him and kept his eyes. "You want me to wait outside?"

Hank gave him another grunt but just reached to give Eth's shoulder a squeeze. "Go change out and grab your kit," he told his kid.

Seemed like it took a good few seconds for that to click in E. But after shifting his eyes to Rixton for another moment, he moved and started his clattering trek up the stairs. Always felt like he might as well be climbing up Everest with the amount of noise his equipment – the crutches – made in his sluggish process. Step by step.

Kid had barely started up the stairs when apparently their scaredy-cat of a guard dog decided it was safe to go blazing after him. Charged right into Rixton's legs, though, as Bear tried to squeeze between them both and make it to Magoo.

"Bear," Hank barked at him. "Sorry. Damn mutt's got no manners," he added, as he grabbed on the dog's collar, giving him a bit of redirect.

"That's OK," Rixton allowed, stopping his work on the laces for a second to reach out and give the mutt a good scruff between the ears. "Used to things barging into me at home too."

Hank allowed another grunt and let go of Bear, giving his rump a light tap to get him headed up the stairs rather than into people. Hopefully he'd dodge around Magoo a bit more gracefully. Though, the fucking dog seemed to understand that E was someone he needed to dodge around gently and not get too underfoot – especially when the crutches were out. It was just the rest of them that he charged right into.

"Pup don't realize it's got a dog's body now," Hank muttered, as he watched to make sure that still played true. Did. Bear swung right by Magoo, beating him to the top of the steps by a long shot. A standing up there panting at him happily waiting for his eventual arrival.

"How many months? Still got growing to do?" Rixton asked, as he pulled off his one boot.

"Had him about a year," Hank put flatly.

Rixton gave him another glance, as he pulled the laces looser on the opposite foot. "Last year's Christmas present?"

"Mmm …," he smacked. "Less of a present than a pain in the ass."

"Oh, yeah?" Rixton said, as he jerked the other boot off and rose. "Got that bred at home too."

"Your's got four legs or two?" Hank put to him.

Rixton made a quiet amused sound. "Got both sub-species, I guess," he conceded.

Hank allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. "Two-legged pain in the ass brought the four-legged pain in the ass home. And it was the larger two-legged pain in the ass. Not the little one," he provided, spraining his neck between the banisters a bit to satisfy himself that E had made it to the top of the stair and into his room OK – without being tripped. Had. So he made a barely visible gesture for Rixton to follow through the front room.

"Beginning to look a lot like Christmas around here," the guy commented, as they passed the tree in the corner.

Hank gave it a small glance over his shoulder and a little grunt. Thing was all lit up. But wasn't much point having the damn thing up if they weren't going to flick on the lights in the evening. Kind of the point. E loved it. Few days they'd had it up had seen E sitting there and gazing at it rather than asking for screen-time. Had had some of his circuitry and programming shit out fucking with the lights too. All these little sequences he was trying to figure out. One looked like he was going for an LSD trip but for the moment it was just cycling through the various colors real slow. Seemed to think he could set it up to be synthesized with music. Was going to have to hope he didn't blow up the stereo system or set the tree or house on fire in the process. But was just letting him have at 'er. Sort of hoping fucking around with the stuff would get him primed up for wanting to go back out to the Robotics Team tryouts in January. Cut this shit talk about dropping the team from his extra-curriculars.

Just made a dismissive gesture at the tree, though. "Kid still at home," he allowed. "Know how it is. Like the decorations."

"Sure," Rixton allowed. "Like putting them up. Not much help with pulling any of it down."

Hank allowed a grunt at that. Wasn't sure he entirely agreed. In fact, he had a toddler over for a visit earlier that evening who'd pretty much been working at proving that pulling the ornaments off the tree was way more fun then putting them on. Barring the availability of a toddler to do the hard labor of Christmas clean-up for you, Hank always found making allowance on pull-down week contingent on the amount of aid provided, did wonders for getting a hand and getting it done and over with in short order.

Him and Camille used to always have the fucking tree up until Epiphany. Relic from her upbringing. Or maybe more of keeping the peace with her parents with them in and out for holiday visits. Leave it right up until Little Christmas and the giant meal at meal at Cami's folks' place and the just as giant of spoiling they did of the kids. Fucking La Befana visiting their grandparents'. Get home from all that, though, and near tore the thing down the next day. Ready to get back to their fucking routines.

Didn't leave it up that long anymore. Some years he sort of thought about it. Got nostalgic about it a bit. But with Camille and her folks gone now, it really didn't make much sense anymore. Wasn't one the list of traditions E remembered. Too little. And J and Erin must've long outgrown it, because they'd never made a comment about him pulling the tree down in the few days after Christmas. About as long as the thing ever lasted was until New Year's Day. Even that sometimes seemed like more than he wanted. Holidays never exactly got easier after you were missing someone in your family. Someone who was supposed to be around the tree with you on Christmas morning.

"That was Ethan?" Rixton put to him, as they walked. Hank just grunted an affirmative. "How old's he now?"

"Thirteen," he provided flatly.

Knew Rixton wouldn't have ever seen his kids before. Maybe Erin after she was in the blue. In passing. Not any visits she would've had over at Gangs. Didn't allow that. Didn't have any pictures of his family there either. Not his cubicle. And not on his desk after he'd moved to sitting behind one of them either. And not in his office now. Never would. Not when fucking psychopaths seemed to make a habit of going after his family. Had two little people he needed to get through to adulthood without them getting damaged any more than they already where. Had two grown woman who needed some protecting too. No one needed to know what his family looked like. Seemed to do fine enough job of finding them without them being on display.

But also knew that a lot of people when they did get to meet his youngest struggled with getting passed the sight of him. Saw the scars, saw the mangled ear, saw the crutches now and just stared at him like he was some creature out of the Black Lagoon.

In a way, Voight understood. Because for a long fucking time, he saw that too. Felt like his scar to bear too. His reminder and punishment for what had happened to his family. What had happened to his wife. What he'd brought upon them. But knew now he didn't need not physical reminder of any of it. Knew too that it hurt just as much when there wasn't a physical manifestation.

When he looked at his boy, he didn't see the scars – the disfiguration – so much anymore. Sometimes situations would draw his consciousness to it. He'd be aware of it for a whole variety of reasons that a father is aware of a whole lot of things about their child. But didn't get fixated on it. He saw his boy. His good boy. Saw Camille. Saw Justin too. And was learning more and more to see himself in there too – for better or worse. Just saw Ethan. For what he was. Who he was. Not what he looked like. Beautiful just the way he was. Still going to be a handsome devil as far as he was concerned. Somewhat biased.

Rixton hadn't been staring at Magoo, though. Supposed he knew enough about what had happened he had a vague idea what to expect. From stories that floated around out there likely braced himself for worse. Some sort of Quasimodo. And that Ethan was not. Couldn't ever be. Not with Camille's genes in there.

There was a quiet grunt and a muttered curse behind him. "Think I might've broken something," Rixton said.

Hank turned again to see the guy bending to pick up something off the floor.

He reached to flick on the light between the armchairs. Flicking it on only revealed that E hadn't gotten too far in tidying up the mess him and H had made of the front room before dinner. Hot Wheel advent calendars for the boys had been a great plan and a fucking pain in the ass at the same time. Seemed to be giving the two of them endless hours of entertainment. Between the new cars that were getting pulled out of the cardboard box each day and the ones that were getting ripped out of the fucking toilet paper roll crackers from J's old collection that Magoo had done up for H. Bring back a whole lot of memories going through his older boy's collection – which Hank would admit even contained a few diecasts that had survived his childhood and gotten passed on to his boys too. Memories of the boys playing in years gone by. Memories of playing with his boys with the damn things too. Memories of the fucking cars in their stockings growing up. And their Easter baskets. And them wanting to spend their allowance on the damn things – so taking them on a trip to the toy store to pour over picking out a new one for the fucking collection that took up quite the good sized Tupperware container in the house. Creating new memories now too. Getting to do it all over again with H. Getting to watch E play with him the same way his brother had him long ago.

Kid was a decent babysitter. Great entertainer for Henry. But the two of them sounded like a fucking herd of elephants in the house – especially when Bear got in on the action. And they left a tornado in their wake that Hank might be able to forgive the one-year-old for not entirely grasping clean-up time yet. But his thirteen-year-old not tidying up after ripping apart their living space pissed him off slightly. Joy of kids. Wasn't even finished up with getting his own out of the house and already had a grandkid working on tearing it down.

Rixton twisted the one of many Hot Wheels that littered the floor in his fingers. Giving it a bit of an examination.

"Think it's OK," he said, handing it to Hank.

He grunted and made an annoyed swipe of his hand at the obstacle course still on the floor in that half of the front room. "Was supposed to be working on cleaning this shit up," he graveled and pocketed the car.

You leave it, you lose it. '68 Shelby GT500. One of Magoo's newer editions to his growing collection. Would be upset when he realized where it'd end up. Wondered what else the kid had left on the floor for him to scoop up. Looked like he could start lining up some extra chores for the kid that week to get these things back. Fine with him. Take a load off his plate. Had a whole other shit he needed to do besides keeping house. Especially at this time of year.

"That the new dinosaurs?" Rixton put to him.

Hank cast him another glance as he skirted through the dining room and into the kitchen. Only took a split second to click but it did.

But he just pulled the car out of his pocket and wagged it at the guy. "What that is, is a clean sink of dishes," he said and put the dinky car on the counter next to the pile of dirty dishes from dinner. Was still working on getting the leftovers packaged up, so E would have a bit more added to the pile for him to work on when he got home form his rock climbing. Lucky kid. Jutted his chin back out to the front room. "Looks like I got some loads of laundry and a scrubbed down toilet in there too."

Rixton made an amused sound and moved to lean against the counter, scrubbing at the borderline ridiculous goatee he had on his chin. That'd be something they'd have to work on too. "Just remember you always finding dinosaurs in your pocket," he said with just a touch of self-consciousness apparent in it. Tried to cover it up, jutting his thumb over to the front stairs and the sound of E moving around in his bedroom. "That was him, right?"

Hank just made an affirmative sound. Didn't need to say much more. Funny that Rixton remembered that. But supposed he'd pulled them out enough on the job – discovered yet a fucking new one in his jacket pocket like his kid was trying to blow his cover. How the fuck do you explain why plastic dinosaurs are falling out of your pocket all the time?

Funny how kids did that. J had done it too. Army Men. Hot Wheels. But E had always been with the dinosaurs. Sending whatever treasured item with Daddy. Likely supposed to protect him or bring him good luck. Or whatever it was that kids were fucking thinking when they did that for you. Left you a little surprise. What it really did, though, was give you a reminder of the real reasons you did the job. Real reasons you needed the city safe. Helped you keep your head on straight.

So didn't go publicizing it, but still had one of E's little dinosaurs in his pocket. The last one he'd put there before they'd lost Camille. Had stopped doing it after he'd hit his head. Likely didn't remember it was something he'd done. Or maybe it was just that he'd become a little more OCD about his collections. Wasn't likely to give up one to Daddy's pocket anymore. Different little boy he'd brought home. But little boy's grow up anyway. Change.

Still, kept that Brontosaurus in his pocket. Or whatever they were fucking called now. Apatosaurus? Didn't know. Did know, though, that the little shaped piece of plastic had become a bit of a worry stone for him all those years it'd been collecting lint in his pocket. Bit of a touchstone too. A reminder. As much as you needed to have your head at the job while you were at the job, sometimes you needed that something to get your head back on straight in the midst of it. Piece of home. Your family. While you were masking the fact your hands were shaking by stuffing them in your pocket. A little something extra to clutch onto and get that shake to stop a bit faster.

"Not on the dinosaurs then anymore?" Rixton asked, trying to sound casual. "Thirteen. Moved onto Hot Wheels?"

Hank grunted and went back to working on the clean-up in the kitchen. Only interested in so much chitchat. Needed to speed things up and get to the meat of whatever – what he expected – Kenny wanted to talk about. But these days only got about 150 minutes of anything that resembled time to himself when Halstead had his son out at rock climbing. That time went by way too quick.

And it rarely counted as time he took for himself. Never was so good at that anyway. Didn't think time to yourself existed in quite the same way after you had kids anyway. But add in the job? And it pretty much ceased to exist. Lived for two things then – had two jobs – be a father and be a cop. That was the order of priority and importance too.

Those 150 minutes he was getting once a week for those ten weeks was pretty much just disappearing into getting shit done without E underfoot. Whether it was putting some laundry through or doing up his lunch for the next day. Or running around to get as many of the week's errands done in that timeframe as he could without having to drag his boy along with him. If it wasn't home-front chores and errands, then he used the time on the job. Paperwork, following up with CIs, maintaining his presence and connections in the city as much as he could. Or past few weeks, he'd forfeit all that "me time" and head over to Erin's condo … Olive's place now and let her take that little bit of "me time". Take her over a casserole. Keep Henry out from under her feet for a bit – or even watch over him as she was the one who got to go on their two-hour whirlwind effort of errands as she tried to settle in and raise a baby boy. Give him his bath. Get him into his pajamas and into his crib for her. Pretty fucking decent way to be using that 150 minutes as far as he was concerned. Go "me time". Share it with others. Supposed to be what family was for anyway.

"Still on dinosaurs," Hank acknowledged, though. "Not so much with the mini figures anymore. Hot Wheels more of a collection thing for him. Make and model. Getting into cars more. Mechanics. My grandson was over before dinner. That's why they're all over the floor. Working at working turning him into a Gear Head."

Rixton allowed a thin smile at that, tucking his hands up into his armpits. "Yea, I'd heard you had a grandkid now," he said and cast him a look. "How old?"

"About a year and a half," he said. "Busy. Real busy."

"Yea … boys …," Kenny acknowledged almost wistfully with a little nod, as he stared at the floor.

"Anything like my boys and my daughter-in-law's going to be in trouble," Hank said.

Kenny allowed another thin smile at that. A sad one. But turned to look him in the eyes again. That was important.

"I was really sorry to hear about your other boy, Sarge," he said. Hank allowed a grunt at that and pressed his tongue into his cheek. Didn't really feel like they needed to get into that. Didn't really like getting into it with much of anyone. Having to get into it every day with his kids – with himself - was more than enough.

"Mmm …," he acknowledged. Didn't need to come up with anything else, though. Not that he would've bothered. But was a fist pounding on the back porch. Shifted his eyes to see that the floor light had come up. Halstead seemed to favor the back entrance over the front. Couldn't say he blamed him. Erin spent most of her life sneaking in that door too. "It's open," he graveled.

Kenny got quiet, his eyes shifting to the breezeway where Jay was clearly stomping the dusting of snow off his boots and shucking them off too. Did it faster than Rixton had managed. He appeared in the kitchen and immediately spotted Kenny. A 'who the fuck is this' look clearly painting across his face. Knew the encounter would be reported back to Erin by nine o'clock that night, if not sent in the fucking messenger the moment he stepped out of sight.

"Kenny Rixton," Voight provided, jutting his chin at the guy and going back to his clean-up. No point in hiding it now. Nothing worth hiding anyway. Though, if the guy had showed up when he was supposed to could've gotten through all this without anyone being none-the-wiser. "Worked with him over in Gangs." Halstead's scrutiny shifted to him. Whole lot of questions and accusations painted on that face of his. Likely be another one of their sit-downs in the future. Some reminders about morals and convictions and grey areas. "Jay Halstead," he provided, though, jutting his chin in that direction while giving Jay a look of warning right back. "Future son-in-law."

Kenny nodded. Though, could tell from the look on his face too that Rixton likely knew exactly who Jay was. Would make sense. Kenny was smart enough that he wouldn't have walked into this conversation, that he was taking his sweet fucking time opening, without having done his research on Intelligence and who was who and what was what. Hadn't done that, didn't deserve to even be asking the question that was likely pending.

Still, the kid stuck out his hand to Jay without comment. "Hey, man," he said. Jay looked at his hand. Took a real long beat before the hands came out of the pocket and he gripped it tight. Silent shake. No comment. No greeting.

"Jay's Ethan's …," Hank shook his head and shrugged, giving him a glance. "What the fuck are you? His rope holder?"

"Belayer," Jay put flatly, still giving Kenny a once-over. Pretty clear that Kenny was returning the favor. Might as well get the two of them a room.

Hank just grunted and gestured at the smothered chops he was getting packaged up. "You get a bite before you came over?"

Jay just gave his head a little shake. "I'm OK," he said.

"Hmm," he acknowledged. "Erin have something for ya when you get home?"

Made a mildly amused sound. Wasn't an expert at Halstead sounds. Likely less amused than disgusted or annoyed, though. "She was meeting Bunny for dinner …," he provided. There was some real tone there. Also wasn't sure if that was meant for him or meant for Erin.

Just smacked, though, and nodded. What more could he do? Fucking less than thrilled that Erin had decided to once again let that cancer into her life. That Bunny was once again fucking preying on her daughter when she was vulnerable. When they were all fucking vulnerable. She was like a fucking shark. She could small the blood. And she was moving in. Knew this was ultimately just going to led to more fucking drama. Drama that none of them fucking needed right now.

But no point in saying anything to Erin about it. She wouldn't fucking listen to him. Not right now. If anything, halfway thought this whole friendliness with Bunny again was just another way of her trying to send a fucking message to him. Didn't need to. He'd heard her loud and clear. Might not have liked most of what he heard. But he had heard. And was doing his best to listen real good now and make changes.

One change – accepting that she was an adult woman. Fully capable of making her own decisions. And if associating with Bunny is was what she thought was a good one right now? Then let her do it. And let her deal with the fallout when it inevitably turned out. Even, though, he knew it wouldn't just be her dealing with the fallout. Because no matter what she thought about it – he was still her father. And he'd still be there for her. It would just be up to her, again, as a grown woman, to decide if she'd take his hand. Take the help when she fucking needed it.

"Send you home with a couple plates," he muttered. Had made enough for everyone anyway. Chop for Jay and Erin. Had quickly packaged two chops up for Olive when she'd come to retrieve Henry. Hadn't wanted to stay for dinner. Still didn't want to stay in the house too long yet. But it hadn't been long yet. Needed to give it time. They had it now. Could still eat dinner if she wasn't staying. Sent her home with enough to have a real meal when Henry gave her a minute. Enough to share with him and still have leftovers for the next day. More than enough for him and Magoo left too.

Jay made a small sound. No thanks. But knew that was part of the show. Tough guy act he was putting on for Kenny and that Kenny was giving right back. What-fucking-ever. Both were tough enough. Save it for the cage. Didn't need to beat each other down in his kitchen.

"E's upstairs getting his shit together," Hank put to Jay. Got another sound of acknowledgement but no movement. So stared at him until Jay caught his eyes and gave him a get moving nod. Got a more annoyed sound at that but shifted in his spot.

Started for the entranceway but Hank called after him in a moment of realization, giving his hands a quick wipe and trailing after him. Pushed by him a little into the dining room and retrieved Eth's math textbook.

"Do me a favor," Hank put to him. It was a rhetorical question.

He flipped it open to all these fucking triangles. Supplementary angles or some shit. Pythagorean Theorem. Could program the fucking lights on a Christmas tree and make alarm system that went off every time someone opened the door to his room uninvited and tell him about pulleys and levers and gears but couldn't seem to wrap his head around this. Or at least not the way the fucking textbook was presenting it. Likely because it was written down. Magoo didn't do well with direction instructions at all. Kid was an experiential learner. A tinkerer. A doer.

"Doesn't matter how many times I read this over with him, how many ways I explain it to him – just giving me that deer-in-headlights look tonight. Can you see if you can get it to click with him? He's got a fucking test on this shit next week."

Halstead nodded. Softening now that he wasn't in the same room as Kenny. Now that it was about Magoo. Gave the guy a lot of credit for that. Was real patient with his son. A lot of people weren't. Even some of his fucking teachers weren't.

"Yea, I'll see what I can do," he said as he gazed at the page, giving it a quick read and then snapping it shut. Continuing on his way upstairs.

Hank went back to the kitchen. Back to slapping the chops into some containers. Erin would likely fucking appreciate it too. Couldn't see Bunny taking her anywhere that didn't just offer up a liquid dinner. Needed more in her belly than that. To be taking care of herself. Finally starting to look like his girl again.

Been pretty fucking worried about her for a while there. Had lost weight and then put on weight and then lost it again. Just fucking yo-yoing. And just looking for tired. So gaunt. Just exhausted.

The move, though. Getting officially settled in with Halstead. It seemed to be treating her well. She seemed to be doing better. Stabilizing. They all fucking seemed to be stabilizing. Or at least slowly leveling out. He'd take it.

"Erin's fiancée?" Rixton put to him.

Hank just gave him a look and a smack. Stupid question didn't deserve an answer. Didn't need to state the obvious.

Kenny caught on. Gave a little nod and gazed down at his feet again some quiet reflection. Collecting his thoughts.

"Hank, I just …," Kenny sighed and looked up, finding his eyes again. "Need you to know that I wanted to reach out."

He shrugged. "It's fine. Don't need to be washing ladies down at the river about it."

Rixton made a small sound. A little stung but nodded, adjusting himself against the counter's edge. "Yea, exactly. Know how you feel about all that. And figured anything I said would just get mixed up in the rest of the noise."

Hank stopped what he was doing and looked more at the man. Pretty clear this wasn't the kid he'd had under his wing those years ago. Not anymore.

"Look, Kenny," he said, leaning himself against the counter next to the guy, crossing his own arms. "Know you had your own shit you were dealing with. Don't need to be giving me any apologies to have this conversation."

The guy gave a little nod but looked at the floor some more. So Hank joined him. Actually looked like one of those cars he picked up off the floor after E was gone would be getting assigned to mopping the floor if the kid wanted it back. Whole lot of muddy paw prints all over the place. Too fucking lazy to wipe off the dog's feet when he came barging inside after lifting his leg.

"Was sorry to hear about Lauren," he finally offered. Pretty abundantly clear that whatever little spiel Kenny had prepared to pitch to him when he'd come in that door had gone off the rails. So maybe he needed something else. Just someone to talk to. Ended up lacking in that sometimes with the kind of work you ended up doing in Gangs. The kind of relationships you needed to form and the distances you needed to create.

"Yea …," Kenny said. "Thanks."

"How you doing?" he asked.

Kenny gave a little shrug. "You know …," he allowed.

Hank grunted and gave a little nod. Examining the floor again as the did and just kept nodding. But he did know. Didn't much know what to say.

Was lucky. Hadn't lost Camille to cancer. Not that there was ever a good way to lose your spouse. But at least Camille hadn't suffered. Hadn't seen it coming even – not until those last few seconds. Or at least that's what the coroner's office had tried to convince him. Didn't really want to imagine having to watch cancer slowly take your wife. Having to see them go through that and not be able to help them. To spend all that time knowing it was coming and being so fucking helpless in that. Having your kids have to go through that too.

So as much as he knew, he didn't know. Didn't know what Kenny had gone through. What his boy had gone through. What the two of them were going through knew. But had some idea of at least the level of loss and the level of pain. And what it meant to you as a father. What it meant to you as a cop. What it meant for your two jobs. What it just fucking meant for the readjustment of priorities in your life. And he wasn't going to string him some bullshit about it getting better or easier. It didn't. You just got farther away from it. And being farther away from it all created it's own pains and sorrows too.

He shifted his eyes as there was a clatter at the top of the stairs. Click of dog toenails and crutches as Bear, E and Jay came down.

E looked slightly cheerier and slightly more awake as he came through the kitchen. In his workout gear, gym bag with all the fucking equipment that had been lent out to them for this activity slung over his shoulder.

Jay held up the textbook and taped at it. "Going to take this," he said. "Running a little late."

Hank grunted, giving a glance at his watch. Weren't exactly late but always needed to give yourself plenty of time when you had Magoo in tow.

"Bye, Dad," E said and moved to breeze by him to the breezeway to retrieve his boots and jacket.

But Hank held out his arm at him. "Hey," he called. "What's the rule?"

E sighed at him but came over. "That I have to hug you when I'm headed out the door 'til I'm at least eighteen and really out the door," he muttered but came to him and wrapped his arms around him.

Hank did too. Maybe holding him a little tighter that evening than they did some days when they a little mechanically moved through their routines – even now.

"Good man," he told him, giving him a hearty pat on the back as he squeezed his shoulder and then released him, giving his bicep a little tap. "Have fun. Behave."

"Yea, yea," E muttered and moved into the breezeway with Jay.

Hank gave Kenny a look. But the guy just gave him that thin, broken attempt at a smile that Hank knew all too well. So as E and Halstead got their outerwear on, he pushed himself away from the counter and went into the dining room, retrieving a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers.

He went back into the kitchen and held the bottle briefly at Kenny, setting it down on the little table there. Could move it to the living room. Knew how to command his living room. But knew with his own kids – his own wife, his family – one of the best places, most fucking productive places, to have a real conversation was the kitchen. Had had a lot talks about the good, bad and ugly with Camille, Erin, Justin, Magoo, even Olive and Al, right there at that table. Could add another to a list.

"Neat?" he asked the guy. But also rhetorical. Was already pouring it. Whiskey was meant to be drank neat. Distilleries – the good ones – knew what they were doing. And this was the good stuff. So drink it the way it was meant to.

"Yea …," Kenny said and came over to the table. Hank put a glass on the one side and poured himself a couple fingers. Might be the kind of chat that needed more than two fingers, though.

"How's Colin doing with it all?" he asked as he sat himself down, making a small salute with his glass, which Rixton returned, and they both took a slow sip.

"Not great," Kenny managed as he brought down his glass.

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged, pressing his fingers against the glass. "What's he now? Seven?"

Knew that the kid hadn't been around too long before the whole shit storm after shit storm had hit his family. Changed his role in Gangs. Changed his role in CPD. Changed his role at home. Changed his whole fucking life. For better or worse.

"Yea …," Kenny allowed. "Seven. Almost eight. March."

Hank grunted and shook his head. Fucking awful age to lose a parent. They're old enough to know – to remember, to have a whole lot of questions. And poor Colin would have a whole lot more memories than just his mom passing. From the bit Hank had heard, did know that it hadn't dragged on too long. Delayed diagnosis and limited options – which apparently hadn't worked. But with kids – even 18 months feels like a lifetime … their whole fucking lifetime. Because 18 months is a good chunk of 84 months in a seven-year-old's life. Damn near a quarter of it. They're still just babies. Little boys. And babies – little boys – they need their moms.

"Hard at that age," Hank provided.

"Yea …," Kenny said and took another slow sip, staring into his whiskey as he brought it down from his mouth. "Not doing so hot at school. Has kind of checked out. Behavior … shit … at home."

"Hmm …," Hank grunted with a little nod. "Normal. Takes time." He gestured at the breezeway where E and Halstead had long ago clattered out, considering Bear's thick skull had now taken up occupancy on Kenny's thigh. Mutt knew when and where he was needed. Guy didn't seem to mind. And he did need it. Could see that he was scruffing at the pup's head. "Ethan was pretty much non-verbal for nearly a year. Still doesn't say much to people he doesn't know."

"Yea …," Kenny nodded. "But … Ethan had other reasons."

Hank shrugged. "Yes and no," he allowed. "Functional enough for the hospital to send him home. Just … the reality of his mom being gone hadn't really clicked in the hospital. Did when we got him home. Regressed a bit. Took him a long time to understand it. Come to terms with it. Still is. Still issues at school. Still behavior at home."

"He was seven too, right?"

"Yeah. Just," he said and took another sip from his whiskey.

Kenny nodded slowly and took sip too, bring it down. "Seems like a nice kid, though. Good kid," he pressed.

Hank smacked but nodded. "Yeah, he is," he agreed. "Real nice kid. Got his own ways of thinking about things and doing things. His own interests. Quirks. But a really good boy. Biased, but one of the best people I've known in my life."

Kenny made another small noise and gave him another broken, thin smile.

"Just got to be there for him, Kenny," Hank nodded at him, keeping his eyes to press forward his message. "Be there – and he'll pull through OK."

"Yea," Kenny nodded but shook his head and looked up at the ceiling for a second before finding his eyes. "It's just hard. The job."

Hank grunted, pushing his tongue around his mouth. Getting to the crux of this meeting. But likely would've preferred this went a little differently. Because framed like this, it'd be going on his gut.

"What's your furlough bank like?" he put to him. "Thought about taking some leave?"

Kenny gave a little sigh but kept his eyes. But could see the sadness there. The rawness. A bit too much like what he saw in his own mirror in the mornings for his liking. But wasn't one to break eye contact first. Not unless he was dismissing the person and what they were saying. Wasn't doing that to Kenny.

"I took a lot of time in the last few months while Lauren was sick," he said.

Hank grunted but gave a little nod. "Kenny, if you need more time – to get your head on straight, to be with your boy – if your supervisor ain't supporting you in that, you can talk to your union rep. There's bereavement funds set aside—"

"I need to work, Hank," he pressed at him with a clear edge. "I need the job."

Hank kept his eyes even though they'd flickered with that anger. Because he heard him. He understood what he was saying. If E hadn't been in the hospital after Camille died, didn't doubt he would've been back to the job within two weeks. Would've run to it. Did with Justin. Sometimes it felt like the job was the only thing that was stable. Predictable as unpredictable as it was. And a real good fucking distraction. Something else –just as real – to focus on.

"I just …," Kenny sighed and took another sip of his whiskey. Liquid courage at this point. Not that the guy needed it. Knew that. So wouldn't judge him too much for taking a momentarily breather to get a drink in. "I remembered that … you moved behind a desk after … you came back to work. Took your sergeant's exam."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted and took his own sip. Letting the guy have another small breather. "Street work doesn't work as well when it's just you at home."

"Exactly," Kenny pressed firmly. That intensity flickering in him again. "But they aren't putting me behind some desk, Hank. And, my folks, I mean, God bless them, they've been there for me and for Lauren and for Colin. But they're both retired now, Hank. Got their own shit they want to be doing—"

"Sure they don't mind helping out with their grandson, Kenny," he put to him.

"I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. "But I don't … want them to be the ones raising my boy. I can't be going out on a case for fucking days at a time and not seeing him. Not being there for him. Just letting them handle it. Not when he's like this."

Hank tapped the edge of his glass on the table and gestured at him. "So what you want me to do about it, Kenny?"

"Hank," he stressed at him, gesturing with his hand in some firmer anger. "You know how they treat us in Gangs when we want to transfer out. No one will fucking touch us with a ten-foot pole. Act like we're all fucking cowboys and dirty cops. For doing our fucking jobs."

"And you think I've got some card I can pull out of my ass to fix that for you?" he put to him.

He sighed at him and slumped back in the chair a bit, gazing at him with variations of anger and hope. Doing some measurement on if that was an opening or if he was getting shut down. Called out and told off.

He finally shrugged. "I heard one of your guys has left," he said.

He nodded. "Yea," he acknowledged. "Had someone move on to bigger and better things. But filled that spot up quick."

Kenny gazed at him more firmly. "It's Bump Season," he put bluntly. "I might've heard that some guys in your unit might be being looked at. And that some of your guys might be looking."

"Mmm …," he allowed.

Could ask who. But didn't really need to. Knew Adam was on that list. Had thought Kevin might be but had been doing his best to make sure that kid felt a bit more appreciated and acknowledged. Giving him a bit more responsibility. Thought Atwater was likely going to hold on for the ride for a bit longer before he wrangled his way up the ladder.

Had expected Erin to bail out but she hadn't – so doubted she would now. Knew she had her reasons for that – or thought she did. But also knew a lot of it boiled down to self-confidence. Erin sold herself short at all. Not that he wanted to lose his girl from the bullpen. Had before and felt the missing piece.

And Halstead? Well, eventually one of them had to leave if they ever tied the knot formally and handed in the appropriate paperwork legally acknowledging it to the Ivory Tower. So when SWAT had done some sniffing about it, hadn't put the kibosh on it. Hadn't told them to keep the fuck away from his people – his team. Because it didn't seem like the worst Jay could do. In fact, seemed like it might be another spot where he could do a whole lot of good, if he had to lose him from his unit.

"Intelligence isn't exactly a desk job," Hank put to him. "Specialized unit."

"I know that," Kenny said.

Hank twisted his glass again, as he continued to examine the guy. Measure him. "Still end up working a lot of nights. Get called in. Lots of cases where I expect to see everyone asses parked at their desks until we get it closed. All hands on deck."

"I understand, sir," he said.

Hank grunted. "So not sure moving to Intelligence does much of anything in solving your problem of wanting to be there more for your boy."

"You make it work," he pressed.

"I've got help," Hank to him flatly.

"Erin and Jay Halstead? Both who work in your unit and are all hands on deck on all these cases?" Kenny said with the know-it-all tone that he clearly really hadn't outgrown. But reminded Hank of too many people he knew. Many in his own family – in that house and on the job.

He gave the guy a smack. "Got a problem with that?"

Kenny made a small faux mea culpa face and gave his head a little shake. "No, sir."

"Good," Hank said. "Because if you've got a problem with that, we've got a problem. My unit. My way."

"Yes, sir," Rixton acknowledged. Way too fucking formally.

Hank grunted and took the final swig of his whiskey.

"Does that mean you'll approve my transfer papers?" he asked.

"It's Bump Season," Hank acknowledged.

"It is Bump Season," Kenny confirmed.

He grunted again and rose. "I'll put in a request to borrow you. We'll go from there. Won't need you until January."

Kenny rose up too, but Hank was already headed back to finishing up with the leftovers. Halstead hadn't taken his and Erin's so he better fucking come in when he dropped Eth off and not just toss the kid out the truck's door on the drive-by. Though, could likely do without the actual "who the fuck was that" rather than just the "who the fuck is that" look.

"Hank, thank you," Rixton stressed at him.

But he just allowed another grunt, glancing at his watch. "Got about 120 minutes left of the 150 a week I have the option of being alone in this house, Rixton. So get the hell out."

Saw a bit more of a real grin pull at the guy's mouth. But he nodded and started to head for his boots at the front door.

"Hope Christmas goes OK for you all," Kenny offered sincerely with another sad edge to it.

Hank gave a nod. "For you and Colin too."

That broken smile again. "See you in 2017," he allowed as he stepped out of the kitchen.

Hank grunted and looked at his empty whiskey glass. 2017. Had to be better than 2016. Maybe he could fucking drink to that.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Yes, I know some of you hate when I write about things actually happening on the show. But for me, looking at things that happened on the show from a different angle, is fun and interesting. And I wanted to get to explore some of this character and his potential backstory and the how/when/why of Voight agreeing to take him on in Intelligence before CPD tells us it. I realize this won't likely be why he's testing him out. I also realize that the character will likely only be around for a handful of episodes. But this is what I decided to do. If you don't like it, don't read it.**

 **And, yes, I know some of you are disappointed that this wasn't the Christmas party chapter. Maybe you'll get one next. If there is a next.**

 **Your readership, reviews and feedback are appreciated.**


	38. Hockey Skates

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

 **THIS CHAPTER GOES AFTER CHAPTER 35 (MOONLIGHT). It will be re-ordered within a week.**

"Dad, these are way too big," Ethan whined at him and Hank glanced up at where he had his son perched on a basement step while he attempted to get the hockey skates fit to him. He pressed his finger against the toe. Not that he could feel anything.

"Where's your toe?" he mumbled at his son.

Ethan leaned forward and attempted to give his best guestimate too. And that best guestimate was a good inch away from the end of the skates.

Hank grunted and pulled the skate off his son's foot, reaching to grab at one of Justin's old hockey socks, handing it to his boy. "Put that on," he said, and then looked down the skate. He reached for the pair of athletic socks his boy had brought down with him and unbunched them, only to ball up a single one and shove it into the toe of the skate, pressing it down firmly. See how that worked.

"They're going to have skates we could rent," Ethan told him, as he worked at pulling the sock up his leg.

They were too fucking big for him too. Figured. Justin was definitely bigger than Ethan when he was thirteen, and the hockey gear they had still kicking around the basement was likely more from when his oldest boy was about fifteen or sixteen. J was about at his full height by then. Though, he'd been heavier set. Had slimmed out some and bulked out his muscles in his later teens. Only to replace the muscle with some beer gut calories after they lost his mom. Army … and jail … had gotten him back into shape, though. Taught him some discipline and how to really work out. Slimmed down and bulked up again. Strong.

But Hank just grunted at his son's comment again and reached to try to tuck the sagging hockey sock up around the top of his boy's tight leg brace. Had thought the bulk of that hunk of plastic would mean that he'd fit into skates a bit bigger. That they'd get skates a size or two up just to get the brace into them. But, admittedly, these skates were more than a size or two up from where Magoo was at. But even if he didn't have his brace on, his skates were going to be a tight fit. Hadn't updated his hockey skates since he was about six years old. E's growth and development might be delayed – but it wasn't that stunted.

"Just trying to see how upright you can get with your brace on, Ethan," Hank put to him firmly, and shoved the skate back on his foot again. "And how tight I need to lace these."

"Dad," Ethan sighed at him. "I'm not a little kid. You can't be tying my skates for me at this."

Hank cast him a look. Even with the weight E was putting on his hand on the step to try to keep it still, it was very clear it was bouncing around on him that day. His kid might have some damn good upper body strength – but he threw shit around anymore. He wasn't going to get those laces tied up on his own the way they were going to need to be tightened to make this skate manageable for him.

E seemed to get the point and gave him an unimpressed huff. Hank didn't know why. Gonna to be lots of kids at this thing who'd need help lacing their skates. Going to be kids needing help getting strapped into their sleds and sledges. Other kids grabbing at the sliding walkers and supports to get out on the ice. Others just getting out there in their wheelchairs. Didn't think anyone was going to bat an eye about him helping his son get laced up. But thirteen. Too self-conscious about every little thing anymore. Little boy trying to be a man. A dad trying to figure out when and how to let him grow up when he'd already been forced to grow up too fucking quickly in too many ways.

"If we just get skates there I could get the ones that have the little support thingy," Ethan told him with some embarrassed defeat in his voice. "That way I won't tip over or droop so much."

Hank sat back on his heels a bit at that and looked up at him. "You think that's how you want to deal with it?"

E shrugged. "I don't really want to do … a walker," he said.

Hank rotated his tongue around his mouth for a moment. "What about one of the sledges? Had fun doing that last year."

Ethan slumped against his knees and gazed at the skate on his foot. "But then the skate time is different and Eva and Evan will be doing the upright one," he said and then gave him a glance. "And you wouldn't be able to come either then."

Hank gave him a shrug. "Was just gonna let you kids do your thing anyway," he put to his boy.

That's what this was. Event for the kids. Labeled as a family event, and was sure some parents would get out there. Either caught up in the moment and the excitement. Or because their kids needed the extra help – use mom and dad was their walker rather than waiting for one of the red monstrosities to become available. But with teenagers – figured it was best to let them do their own thing.

Though, didn't doubt Gwen Hatley would be out there with the kids. Babying the shit out of Evan. She liked to do that. Supposed all mothers did. Supposed with E being his youngest and with him being sick, he did his own amount of babying of the kid. But also tried to teach him some independence. Different with Gwen and her boy. Enough mom and clear that those two had been through their own tornado too. Made you get tight with those left around you to cling to. But with a boy like Evan, Hank suspected it would work out best for the kid if he didn't come off as such a Mama's Boy in the long run. Needed to work at making him a bit more masculine than the kid could come off as some times if he was going to survive high school and teen years. But, not his problem, he supposed too. So let her embarrassed the fuck out of the kids, if that's what she wanted. He'd be happy watching from the glass and doing the skate tightening, if the kids got off the ice looking for it.

E just gazed at him questioningly, though. "Don't you want to skate with the Blackhawks?"

Voight gave him a thin smile and went back to getting Eth's foot in place to see about getting those skates tightened up. See if his boy could manage to keep himself upright or if they were going to have to get the other kind of skates rented for the kid. Get a request filed so there'd actually be a pair there for his boy.

Or so he could work on talking his kid into claiming one of the skating trainers – walker thing – for some support. Figured he might be able to convince him that Eva would be needing one too.

Girl didn't have a lot of skating experience. Didn't get the impression she'd been out on the ice at all since losing her leg. Thought it would be a bit of an adventure getting her fitted into a pair of skates and keeping her upright. Had to hope the staff onsite would be used to dealing with the kids with prosthetics and know what to offer up as the best option for her and if it was skates, they'd have pairs that made the most sense for the kids.

Even with that, though, thought the girl would do best getting a trainer to help her along. Eva, though, she was a stubborn little girl and didn't take much babying. Figured she'd be more likely to cling to the boards and work her way around the ice than take a walker. Or that she'd be grabbing at Ethan or Evan for support. End up sending all three of them tumbling.

Might be the point that Hank did get out on the ice. If E and Eva both couldn't keep upright, he'd likely have to get out there to hold one or both of the two little stubborn fucks up. Try to get the both of them to Christmas without concussions or bruised tailbones or broken bones.

"Skate is for you kids," he offered again.

And it really was. As a bit of a publicity stunt. But reality was with the kind of programming that RIC offered and the fact they had families in from all over the place using their services with all kinds of different income levels and a lot of them with finances pulled even tighter while they tried to get their kid through a pretty big rough point in their life and then tried to find a new normal – it was expensive. Hospitals needed sponsors and donors if the patients were going to get the kind of services the Rehab Institute was renowned for. Needed big ongoing ones and some events with the kapow if they were going to be able to afford to offer the kind of programming that patients lucky enough to be living in Chicagoland were able to access year-round for basically the rest of the kids' life with the proper referrals.

And, Hank was real grateful to have those services. Real aware of the opportunities it was giving his boy. Wasn't just about the physical therapy and athletic therapy and cognitive therapy and occupational rehab his boy was getting there – the professionalism of the staff. He really valued all the kids programming they had to teach these kids how to function in real life. To give them the opportunity to be 'normal' among their peers and to learn to be independent and to push boundaries and to overcome obstacles. To learn about what supports were in place for them. To learn how to deal with the fucking red tape around them when people told them they couldn't do something just because they were a little different. Folks in the kids programming were really good. The programming was great. And wholly appreciated that E was finally making some friends and connections. Wished it was happening in the academic environment too. But would settle for this – because at least his kid had people. Better than nothing. Needed supports and a network to make it through life. E wasn't going to get to be a lone wolf.

Real grateful too as the realization set in that this programming was giving these kids opportunities that a lot of Chicagoans went through life never getting. Having the Cubbies and the Blackhawk Charities as key supporters at the Rehab Institute? Them participating in the programming and opening doors of opportunity for these kids? Made them feel real special and really opened their eyes to a whole lot of different things and life experiences. And the sad reality was that having some Cubs or some Hawks at an event – that was more likely to get the business big shots and Naperville and Lincoln Park millionaires opening up their wallets. Wasn't going to be the little kids slogging through fucking life changes and challenges that they didn't even want to imagine were possible to experience that would bring in the big bucks.

So as much as this whole Charity Skate with the Blackhawk thing felt a bit like his kid was being put on parade, Hank was doing his best to keep it in perspective. Reminding himself that only 125 tickets were being sold to the bigwigs and that they were going for $350 a pop and way, way upward. That out of the whole day, these jag-offs were only going to get thirty minutes on the ice with the players and another thirty minutes in the set up exhibition and party and autograph and meet and greet area. That the rest of the four hours were opened up to RIC patients and their families and that the Hawks charity programming had the players and the rink at Johnny's Ice House weren't costing a cent. That a lot of other good sponsors were coming out to give these kids a nice day and some good memories and family moments in the lead-in to the holidays. And that those 125 folks spread out over four hours wouldn't be too much of an intrusion but would be bringing a nice chunk of money in for the hospital and its programming with what they were putting down for the tickets and what he expected some of them would be bidding on the memorabilia and whatnot being advertised as available at the silent auction. So just had to take it for what it was. Good and the bad. Just like anything else in life.

Important thing was that the Triple E seemed to be looking forward it. That his boy seemed to be looking forward to it. And that would be a nice distraction from the rest of the bullshit of their daily grind and wayward thoughts that persistently gnawed at you if you didn't have something to focus on.

E just gazed at him more, though, as he processed that. "But I don't really know who any of the players are," Magoo said. "How am I going to know who to ask for autographs?"

Hank allowed a small amused sound at that and knocked his boy's foot up-and-down a bit as he really yanked at the laces on the skate. "Imagine on the ice they'll be wearing their jerseys," he said. "You wait until we get into the meet and greet and they'll have some of them sitting at tables waiting for ya. Pens on the ready."

"Well, who do you think Henry will like having an autograph from?" Ethan asked him.

Hank glanced up at him again. But looked back down. Thought he just about had that skate as good as he was going to get it. E wasn't complaining it was too tight, so he started working at getting the other skate ready to shove onto his boy's opposite foot. Should be easier to get it on without having to work around the brace but might need an extra sock or two shoved down into it to make up for the extra space at the toes.

He just grunted as he worked. "Don't think Henry will really care who's name is scrawled on the puck, Magoo," Hank allowed.

Knew that was part of the reason E was so into this skate thing. Had got it into his head that H wanted and needed an autographed puck. Nice thought. A decent collectible for a little boy to have in his room growing up. But a one-year-old sure as fuck didn't care who's name was on it. By the time H was old enough to even ask who's name was illegible on the thing, the player would likely be off and traded to another team anyway. And who knew if his grandson would even much care for hockey. E sure hadn't taken much of a liking to it growing up. Just not his sport. Be nice if H liked it, though. Could have a bit of a hockey buddy again. Wouldn't mind that. Could become a bit of a rink rat when he hit mandatory and CPD booted him to the curb. Maybe more. Do some coaching. Could be fun with the kids at that level. Ten, eleven, twelve year olds. Fun age. Hard age but a good age too. He'd liked his kids at those ages. And figured he might have a decent chance at making a hockey player out of his grandson now that he had him back in Chicago. Good city to grow up in for sports – watching and playing.

"Who's your favorite player?" Ethan asked.

Hank shrugged and made a passive grunt. "Don't much get into that. Cheer for the hometown team. Decent ground as a whole right now."

"As good as the Cubs?" E pressed.

Hank shot him amused look. There's comparing apples to oranges. Hockey and baseball? Not the same thing.

"Top of their division right now," he allowed.

Magoo gave him a little nod. "Well, then who was Justin's favorite player?"

"Hmm …," Hank grunted and thought on it. Didn't much know. Reality was him and J stopped talking about that sort of thing long ago. Years. Maybe they'd done a bit better the past year or two but still wasn't much of a conversation. Not even small talk. And after you reached a certain age, Voight didn't think you much had favorite players anymore. Least not as an adult. Your favorites were the guys on the team when you were growing up or the ones the history books told you to admire. "Maybe Kane or Toews," he allowed, though, because he knew E wasn't likely to let it drop unless he gave him an answer. But also knew that the whole team wasn't likely to be out on Saturday so it only mattered so much what answer he gave. Figured Magoo was more likely to get Tootoo's John Hancock than he was the team's captain. But would just have to wait and see.

Finished tying up the skates and gave his boy a look. "How they feel?" he asked.

E shrugged. "Like I can't feel my feet."

Hank gave a little grunt and nodded. "Least you won't feel the cold either then," he said and pushed himself up to his feet. He stuck his hand out at his boy. "Let's see how you do upright," he said and pulled his boy up.

E staggered around a bit but managed to stay on his feet. But only was accomplishing it by keeping a hold of Hank's elbow.

"What you think?" Hank put to him.

E gave him an unimpressed look. "They're way too big, Dad," his kid stressed at him again.

Hank gazed down at his kid's feet. Had to admit they looked a bit like clown shoes on his boy. But was pretty sure E was going to need a size or two up with the brace on his one leg.

"Take a few steps," he ordered, taking his son's elbow but removing the kid's hand from his own.

E gave him another little sigh but tried to comply. He webbled and wobbled a few inches forward and cast him another look.

Hank just shrugged. "Meant for ice not concrete basement floors," he provided.

E just gazed at him. "Are you going to be upset with me if I need the thingy to snap on them so I don't droop over?"

Hank gave him a pucker and shook his head. E just gazed down at his feet again. Hank actually thought his kid had a bigger problem with needing the blade support than he did.

"How's it feel with the brace on?" Hank asked instead. "You want to try them without?"

E gave him a look and tottered the half a foot back to the stairs – near collapsing forward to get his ass back on the stairs. He looked at the skates again.

"I think they'll be way too big without the brace," he said and tapped at the side that didn't have all the extra plastic. "This one's way looser."

Voight gave a nod and crouched down to help his boy, who was working at pulling the laces apart.

"Can do it up tighter for you," he offered but E just shook his head at him.

"They aren't going to charge us to use their skates. And if they do, I can pay the rental out of my allowance. It's OK. They don't fit."

Hank reached and tapped his boy's cheek. "Don't have to pay the rental, if there's one," he assured his son.

Didn't think there'd be one at this event anyway. Might be a pot for free-will donations. But it'd be discrete. No expectation. Some families just couldn't afford it. The ones where their kids were still right in the hospital going through hell, likely right beyond their means putting anything in. Hank, though, always gave a little something. They could manage. And knew their family was taking a whole lot of advantage of the programming, of which the vast majority was free.

"Just wanted to get an idea of what size you might need and if you think you're going to want your brace," he said.

E let out a little sigh and gazed at his feet again, as Hank jigged the one skate a bit and managed to pull it off. He thought he'd done a good job at getting the laces tight enough. But supposed that only worked so well when the hand-me-downs were nowhere near your size.

"I guess the brace is a good idea …," E relented.

Hank nodded again, glad to have had his son at least concede that. Eth had a bit of a love hate relationship with the damn thing. Kid wanted to be able to use it more to mask some of his disability but hated the way it changed his mobility and movement. Had gone into the fall claiming he was going to use the thing all the time at school but that had died. Was using the crutches. Seemed to only favor the brace in sporting activities where he needed the support and stability in his leg and foot. Otherwise, his boy had reached the point where he had the strength and technique down that he could get from Point A to Point B pretty damn fast on his crutches. Jack Rabbit.

"We'll just see about getting a half-size or size up on the one foot when we rent," Hank assured him, as he started working at getting that skate off.

"Are we going to go skating at Christmas?" Magoo asked. "With Henry again?"

Hank gave a little shrug. "Haven't talked to Olive about that," he admitted.

Gonna be a strange Christmas. That was for sure. They were moving in the direction of all at least being together. At least the ones of them who were left. The chips were slowly falling into place. But he wasn't pushing it or forcing it. Knew both the girls had mixed feelings about the whole when and how and where they wanted to spend time around him. So he was just being respectful of that. Knew that forcing it might just cause Erin and Olive to pull away again when it finally was starting to feel like he was getting them back in his life in a more real way. So he was just trying to go with the flow.

Going with the flow, though, meant he didn't have a whole lot of knowledge about what the plans were over the holiday period. Had tried to ask gently with both of the women in the past few weeks. Managed to get some information and guidance out of all of that. But not really much in the way of a clear schedule or clear expectations. Kind of meant he was planning his own thing for him and Magoo at the house and then just waiting to see with the rest of it. Where they'd actually be and what they'd actually be doing. Ordered a turkey and a ham for Christmas and New Years like he would be having at least three other adults wanting to eat. But also knew it was a likelihood that he might have a whole lot of leftovers. That wasn't bad, though. Magoo was usually much more amendable to eating soups and stews than he was solid foods.

Just seemed like on some levels no one really wanted to think too much about the holidays. At least not over think and over plan. Understood. He didn't much want to think too much about them either. Though, Magoo was doing good at making sure he had to think about them. Holiday parties and concerts and events and whatnot at RIC and at the school. Kid all about these family traditions, which were just not going to play out in their usual way that year at all. And just generally excited. Some times it felt a little forced but at the same time Hank was pretty acutely aware that the whole excited about Christmas thing was pretty time limited and his boy was nearing the end of it in terms of age and stage.

As hard it was, needed to try to enjoy that. Because it'd be gone. High school next year and he'd likely be too cool for Christmas or all these traditions he wanted. But thankfully, he'd have a little grandson by then who was getting into prime Christmas age to keep some of the holiday magic alive. Force them to keep up some of the traditions and to put on their happy faces. Still.

Maybe that's what Magoo was doing for them that year. Or trying to. In his own way. A lot of sadness flickered through him too.

It was going to be a strange year. But they'd get through it. At least they'd have each other. What Christmas was about anyway. But believing that – knowing it – also meant you just saw those missing people and empty seats in the front room and chairs around the dining room table even more. But they'd all just muck through it.

"We could take him to the Ribbon," E said. "We haven't gone to it yet."

Hadn't. Place had only been opened a couple years now. Really hadn't ventured much into Maggie Daley at all since it opened on his own accord. Got over there a couple times in the summer picking up E after the RIC camp on the days he was able to push him into going. Had only been so much interest and want to participate when the thing landed right after they'd lost Justin. But Hank was glad he'd gone. Had gotten his boy to try some other activities and opened up his interest in other opportunities and athletic accommodations available to him. The rock climbing for one. And the kid had been pretty taken with the park and the set-up they had there. Mentioned it a lot. But hadn't had him over that fall and it was too far from the house for him to be letting the Triple E to be tearing over there. Though, Eva seemed real comfortable navigating the CTA. Guess that happened when your dad was a bus driver. E'd be OK on it too. Let him use it some. Starting to ease him into it leading up to his fourteenth and high school. Hoping he'd be able to get to and from some of his appointments and tutoring and over to RIC on his own a bit better. Evan, though? Nervous kid. Sure wasn't adjusting to city life at a very fast clip. Likely would sit on the train shitting bricks the whole ride out to the Loop and the park.

"Mmm …," he allowed. "Shaping up to be a cold one this winter. We take H skating, likely best we do it at an indoor rink."

Babies didn't last long out in this weather. Wouldn't want to risk his little guy getting frostbite or catching a cold. Not on his watch. But Magoo just didn't have much staying power out in the cold either. Kid was cold even when he had the thermostat in the house cranked to the point he was sweating bullets. Looked like it was going to be another fun winter with the temperatures and snow. Had dodged the snow bullet a couple years. But they were once again getting a real Midwest winter that year. And a white Christmas. Freezing cold, wind chills and snow had set in weeks ahead of the big day. Only supposed to get more between now and then.

"Eva says she'd go skating at the Ribbon," E provided. Touch of shyness how he said that.

Hank gave his boy a small amused look again. They'd had their fights and arguments about Eva and his boy's friendship with her. About what was acceptable and what wasn't – both at home and when they were out on their own or over at her place – when it came to boy-girl friendships at that age. Had his own level of nervousness about it all. Teen kids, hormones, bad choices. Didn't need more drama – even just of the broken heart variety. But had taken some steps back. Just settled into the acceptance that Eva was proving to be a real good friend to his boy. That she seemed to be able relate to some of what he was going through and that gave his son someone more age-appropriate that he could talk to.

Hank knew kids needed that. But also knew from experience that having someone to share that kind of stuff with could eventually lead to pretty intense feelings about the other person. Make you relate to each other and cling to each other – be dependent on each other – in a different way. Sort of dangerous when you're young. But supposed it'd worked out OK for him and Camille. Not to say that would be what would happen for Eth and Eva. But did mean he was giving them some space but also keeping an eye on it. Letting the friendship develop but trying to make sure neither of them went tumbling into more too soon or too quickly. Still just little kids. First crushes. Maybe a bit of a blossoming first puppy love. Going to be some bumps along the way. Cute to watch but a little scary too. Funny how his kids did a good job at scaring him more than any of the bullshit and assholes he ever dealt with at work.

Found some solstice in knowing that E might have peer pressure around him and have an awareness that his dick should be or would be talking at him more – but kid's balls hadn't dropped yet. Wasn't charging into puberty and all the raging hormones telling him to make bad choices and run up his water bills in the shower and the laundry machine with his sheets and socks either. And Eva too. Could see that the chemo and everything her body had been put through with her cancer meant that she was proving to be a real nice young lady in heart and mind but her body wasn't showing outward signs that she was blossoming into one yet. Had to hope the bit of a delay both the kids seemed to experiencing in that area, meant that when their bodies did catch up to their hearts and minds, they'd be mature enough to handle all of that. Make good choices. Be a bit older. If they were still hanging around together at that point. Would be nice if they were. E needed friends who stuck by him.

"Thought Evalyn wasn't much of a skater?" he put to his son.

E sighed at him. "She hates when people call her that."

"It's her name," Hank said.

"I'm not allowed to call her that," E said.

"I'm not you," Hank said.

E huffed at him. "Well, she thinks the Ribbon looks fun and might want to go if skating isn't too hard for her on Saturday."

"Skating inside is pretty different than doing it on an outdoor rink, Magoo," Hank warned, casting him a look.

He shrugged. "I know. You and Mom took us to the one at the Zoo. And that one on the lake."

Hank let out a little grunt and gave his boy another thin smile. "Pond," he corrected. Out in the 'burbs. He'd almost forgotten about that. "You remember that?"

His boy shrugged again. "Yea. There was a barn. It had hay bales to sit on. We had hot chocolate."

Hank smiled a bit wider at that and reached up to pat at his son's cheek. The damaged side. Probably one of the last spots Cami had touched on their boy too. Sometimes it amazed him the little bits and pieces that Magoo had buried in that head of his. The long-ago memories he was still able to find and pull out of there. The brain was a pretty amazing and complicated thing. His son was a constant reminder of that.

"Henry might like the Zoo one," E said. "He liked the Zoo in the summer, I think."

"Think so too …," Hank admitted. Grandson had been a little monkey. And really liked watching those animals too.

"And they have lights up for the skating … right?" E scrunched his face. Clearly was another memory flickering somewhere in that head of his.

Hank gave a little pucker and nodded. "Think so. Used to."

"And he likes our Christmas lights," E provided.

Hank smiled a bit more at that. E had pretty much forced his hand in putting some lights and garlands around the banisters and railings on the front steps. To get a wreath for the door. To look like they were actually marking the season. He'd mostly just humored him to make it one less thing he'd had to listen to his son go at him about in all this Christmas lead-up crap. But Magoo had helped and he was right that little H seemed amazed by it.

Though, Hank also thought H was just in a phase that he wanted to show off his prowess on stairs. Up and down and up and down and up and down. Really should get whoever the candidate was these days at 51 to come over and practice their flights on the steps with the little tyke. Henry was really loving it these days with the decorations. Lots to look at and pull at and rip apart at each step. Giving him big toothy grins as he did it. Kid was going to be a really ball buster. A pain in his ass. Could tell. But should've known. Knew the boy's father. Pain in the ass was going to be part of H's genetic make-up.

"So maybe Santa should get me hockey skates for Christmas …," E tried that opening.

Hank let out another amused snort and looked up at his kid. First time he'd used Santa in a sentence that wasn't alleging his non-existence in years.

"Pretty sure Santa's already worked on his list and got his workshop working on whatever gift he's going to have with those stockings he drops off," Hank said flatly. Might as well keep up the gig if his kid was going to open himself up to it.

"Well … then maybe you could get me skates this year …," E tried, staring at him.

Hank gave him another thin smile and gripped at his shoulder. As usual his kid hadn't asked for much for Christmas. That was pretty par for the course. Him and Camille hadn't ever really let the kids ask for much. Didn't want Christmas to be a wish list of useless crap and more, more, more. Though, had been a little surprised with E being a teen now and him still wanting that Xbox that he hadn't taken the holiday period to remind him of the list of things other little Richie Riches at Iggy's were asking for or expecting to get under the tree. But maybe he was raising his kid right. Maybe with all their family had been through, his kid really did get it. Because this was the first mention that he was hearing from his boy about anything he actually wanted for Christmas. And they were just over a week from the big day.

"Usually get my shopping done long before this," Hank told his son.

E gazed at him. That sadness that he knew too well anymore flickering in his eyes. And it wasn't about some present under the tree.

"I just know you liked getting Justin hockey stuff at Christmas," he said.

Hank gave a little nod. "Your brother liked hockey. Played hockey. Made sense to have that kind of stuff under the tree for him," he allowed and looked his boy in the eyes. "You ain't J, Magoo. Don't need to try to be. You like baseball. Get you some baseball gear you need at your birthday. That's fine."

"But I kinda need skates," E said, twisting his foot in the tightly laced skate that Voight thought he might've tied a little too tightly because even he was having a bit of trouble getting them loosened up again. At least enough to get them off his boy's foot.

"How about we see how this weekend goes with the skating," Voight allowed. "You like it and think you're going to want to go out more than one or two times more this winter, we can talk a bit about getting you a pair of our own." He looked up at him with a touch of sternness. "But with you just skating in circles and likely needing a different size for each foot, Magoo, we'll just go over to the used gear shop. Don't need anything fancy."

"OK," E allowed. Not fighting him on that. But supposed his boy was used to hand-me-downs. Supposed too that this wasn't some item that he expected to have to show off at Iggy's and get some commentary from the little assholes about the vintage of his clothing, accessories, technology and gear.

E just sat there watching him until he finally asked, "Would it be weird or selfish of me to donate my charity money to RIC?"

Hank glanced up at his boy but gave his head a little shake. "No, not if you think that's where the money would best be used," he said.

Eth just shrugged. "Well, I figure that there's lots of other kids and family who need the stuff there and the hospital needs lots of stuff too."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted. Good that his son realized that. Supposed part of the point of making him put away some of his allowance to give out to charity was getting him to think about and come to those own realizations on his own.

"The other place I kinda thought was PAWS. So dogs like Bear can find good homes families too. Because dogs cost a lot to feed too and need lots of stuff when they're puppies," E said.

Hank nodded again. "Babies need lots of stuff," he allowed.

"And if they were hurt or sick …," E added quietly and cast him a shy look. "And Bear's a pretty good friend. And even though people were mean to him, he's a real nice dog."

Hank allowed another nod. "He is," he agreed.

Because the mutt was. Hadn't had much interest in having a dog. Not before. Not with all that was going on with Magoo last winter. Not with the job. But the kid was right. Bear – did good at playing the whole bumbling a dumb thing – but he was a real nice dog. Sensitive to what was going in the house and with his boy, an provided a whole lot of company and comfort. Knew it'd helped Magoo trudge through the past year in more ways than one.

"Other people should adopt rescue pets and get a dog like him …," Eth provided, and cuffed his freed foot a bit while Hank got the last of the laces loosened on his other foot and worked at wriggling the skate free. Still had it stuck pretty good with it needing to slip around the brace and all that sock bulk.

"I don't really know if I want to do take in much stuff to the toy drive or food drive at Iggy's this year," Ethan said quietly and Hank glanced up at him again as the skate pulled away.

"Why's that?" he asked.

Kid had been pretty into it last year before he ended up spending the last part of the month in the hospital. Hank didn't much care either way. But he'd always tried to do a bit of the donation stuff at Iggy's. Bit of a mea culpa for the arm-twisting he'd done to get his kids into the school.

E shrugged at him. "Erin and Eva both have told me stuff about how food drives and toy drives really work. And they say it's usually better to give the places money so the places can get stuff that they really need and are healthier and how food banks and stuff know how to make the money go farther to get them more stuff too."

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged.

"Erin said it might be better if we saw if there was still a family that needed to be adopted at the actual church or one of the charities to get stuff they actually really wanted or needed or so it's going somewhere specific rather than just getting a toy for the toy drive. Because she said sometimes with them they get so much stuff and some of it gets donated so late that it just gets put in a warehouse until next year. So it might even just be better to donate to a coat drive or a soup kitchen or something. The high school classes volunteer there."

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged but then shrugged. "Whatever you think is the best way of handling it."

E squinted at him like he was surprised by that statement. But part of the exercise of getting his son civic minded and getting him some independence was letting him make these kinds of choices and decisions. At least he was half-ways educating himself. Or being educated by others. But something resembling a good start.

"I just feel like sometimes stuff at Iggy's turns into a competition," E said. "And like we can't afford to keep up with the competition. Like my Easter basket for the raffle and silent auction. And the competition isn't even what it's supposed to be about. It's supposed to be doing something nice for a family that can't afford to have a nice Christmas. And picking something so the kids in that family can have a nice, thoughtful present just like we all get to. It's not about giving the best present or buying lots of little presents so you can say you donated the most."

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged again. "So what do you think would be a nice, thoughtful present?"

E gave a little shrug. "I guess it really kinda depends on the family and the kid and what they have or like or want or need. Or even how old they are."

"Hmm," Hank grunted. "But sometimes when you can't know all of those logistics, a good way to look at it is to think about the way you'd like to be treated and things you'd like or want or need."

E scuffed his feet on the steps again, as Hank tied the laces of the skates together and rose to swing them back over the beam in the rafters of the low ceiling. Figured that he could likely get rid of that pair but also figured that eventually E would grow into them. And figured even more that he wasn't quite ready to give up his oldest son's last pair of skates from his childhood just yet.

"Well … I think that a family in need would like to be able to have a nice Christmas dinner and maybe some chocolate or treats. And that since it's so cold they'd likely want warm winter clothes and boots, if they can't afford them."

"Hmm…," Hank acknowledged and moved back to sit on the steps with his son. "I think the coats and boots, we don't need to worry about. Lots of charities and churches work at making sure families in need and homeless get given those things to get them through the cold." E allowed a small nod at that. Was true. And the other truth was they didn't really have much in the way of gently used winter gear they could donate and buying anything new, E was right, it'd be better to just cut a charity a check for a couple hundred bucks than picking up a pair of boots and a new ski jacket. "You don't think you want to do the food drive at St. Ignatius, and we could talk to Father or call the church directly, see if they're taking gift cards instead."

"Yea …," E said.

"Would mean the family who gets it could pick what they wanted or needed, not just for the holidays but in their daily lives too," Hank put to him. E gave a little nod but could see the gears still processing. "What were you thinking about the toy?"

E gave him some side eye. "Is CPD's Toys for Tots better than Iggy's Toy Mountain?"

"Hmm …," he grunted. "Not so much of a competition. But a lot of the toys would've been collected and distributed by now. Can still take our donation into District, though. Trudy will get it directed where it needs to go."

E looked at him more directly. "She knows kids and families who need help. Maybe she could just give it to them."

Allowed a small nod. "Maybe. Can ask her."

"RIC collects toys for kids stuck in the hospital too," he said. "But some families at the hospital need that more than others. Like if I was there, we wouldn't really need them to give us toys, right?"

Hank made a pucker and shook his head. True. His boy being in the hospital and all the medical bills, wouldn't mean he wouldn't get a Christmas. It'd just be a different one. His son would still have something to unwrap, though.

E looked at his released feet and fidgeted a bit, now working at getting the brace off himself. The kid hated that thing. Didn't really blame him. Looked real uncomfortable. No matter how natural the positioning was supposed to be, it just didn't look natural.

"It's hard when you don't know anything about the kid," E said. "But I kind of think that most kids would like Lego. But not like a little set like a real one."

Hank nodded. "OK," he allowed. "We could go out after skating or on Sunday when we're doing our grocery run and see what we could find."

E nodded slightly as he worked at peeling back the tight Velcro on the brace. "Star Wars and Hot Wheels are likely OK too," he said. "And kids Henry's age like Paw Patrol."

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged. Had become real aware of that when he did his shopping for little H too. And the times he'd gotten to do some babysitting for Olive. H loved leaning against the coffee table and just stomping his feet in a little dance while he stared at Paw Patrol. And Rescue Bots and Thomas the Tank Engine and Dino Trux and Bob the Builder. Kids only changes so much over the years. And anything only held a 17-month-old's attention for so long. H would much rather be pulling at Bear's ears or trying to rip apart Popa's front room and pull all the pots and pans out of the low cupboards in the kitchen – and bang on them with wooden spoons.

"Was Erin really poor?" E asked kind of suddenly and cast him a look. "Before she came to live with us? Because she said some years her family got a hamper with toys and food and clothes at Christmas."

"Hmm …," Hank grunted again and gazed down at his son's feet too, watching his efforts, but letting him do it on his own. No offer to help with that process. "Her mom wasn't able to take care of her kids too well. Erin didn't get much of a Christmas when she was little."

"But she still talks to her mom …," Eth said.

Hank grunted again at that reality. "Yea, a little."

"She has a brother too," E said and Hank met his eyes at that. A little surprised Erin had disclosed that to him. "A little one. But they don't talk."

"Hmm …," Hank allowed again. "Yea, last I heard, they weren't in communication."

"Why didn't he come live here too?" E asked.

Hank poked his tongue in his cheek at that and tried to figure out the best way to answer. "Erin was a street kid that I got to know through my job," he allowed. That was something E already knew. "Her brother, Teddy, he was younger and wasn't running with that same group yet. So I didn't get to know him as well and by the time I was in the position that me and your mom could take Erin in – bring her home – Teddy wasn't around much. He gone to live with his dad."

E made a face. "His dad? Why didn't Erin go live with him too?"

Hank put his hand on the back of his boy's head. "Had different dads. Teddy's dad wasn't Erin's dad."

E squinted at that. "Does Erin have another dad?"

"We've all got a dad. Need one to get here."

E let out a little sigh at that. "Yea, but you say some people aren't really dad's. They're just sperm donors."

"Hmm," he grunted again. "Yea. Erin's father was pretty much a sperm donor."

Eth slumped against him and they stared at the far wall for a second. "Eva says her mom is pretty much the equivalent of a girl sperm donor. Like an egg donor." Hank let out another small amused sound at that. Not because it was funny – it was fucking heart breaking – but it did sound like something that little piss and vinegar girl would say. "She says her mom has drug and alcohol problems. I guess like Erin's other mom. But Eva doesn't talk to her mom. Even when the social workers make them spend time with her."

Hank wrapped his arm around his boy and held tight to his shoulder. "Well, got to be thankful that Eva's got a real good dad and a real good grandma and an older brother to all help look out for her," he said. "And maybe with time her mom will realize she needs some help and be able to get it and stick with it and Eva might decide she wants to talk to her some again. Some day."

Ethan just shrugged against him. "She says they got toys from the toy drive one year too. When she was still really sick and her brother had died and her mom was spending all the money they had left on her addictions. Before she left. Or her dad made her leave."

Hank allowed another grunt of acknowledgement at that. But his son looked up at him.

"Is Eva's family poor, Dad?" his son asked.

But Hank gave his head a little shake and held his boy tighter. "They aren't poor," he allowed. "Her family – and her dad – they've just got financial challenges. We all do. But her dad has a good job and works hard for his family. They get through life OK."

Reality was that having a sick kid was expensive. Knew that her father must have decent benefits with the CTA. A steady pay. Unionized. But the family likely also had some medical debt from getting Eva out the other end of her trials and tribulations relatively healthy. And follow-ups and rehabilitation and any prosthetics and medications she needed for the rest of her life – had a cost attached to it too. Amidst that the guy had funeral costs from his oldest and the emotional and psychological burden of losing a child – and losing them in gang related violence in the city. Would've been police and lawyers in his face while he was trying to get through it with a sick kid in the hospital.

Then Eva's father was now working as a single father. Likely had some legal fees going on with the bullshit with her mother's spin out. Might even be trying to pay to help the woman get rehabilitated and healthy too so she could try to be a mother again. Or because he loved the woman. And even outside of that, the man had three mouths to feed at home. His oldest boy was heading to college in the fall and from the bits and pieces that got said, even though the kid was expected to be working and paying for his education – getting scholarships and loans and bursaries and subsidies – that the man had also given some indication that he'd be that good dad and try to help his boy finance some of his education as much as he could. And he still had two other kids to get to that point too. Then there were just the monthly bills that life and raising a family bought.

He had a good job, a decent paying job – but family wasn't rich. Knew they likely lived pretty pay-check to pay-check. But who didn't anymore? Weren't flashy people. Didn't live in the best neighborhood in the city. But couple times he'd picked his boy up there, clear that they did their best to keep their house kept. Just doing the best they could. But there'd be debt. That was just 21st century reality, though. Were far poorer people in far worse situations, though. Eva wasn't on the list of kids Hank worried about. Had good supports and a good head on her shoulders. They'd all be OK. Not headed for the poor house, food stamps or bankruptcy.

"Eva's going to do the entrance admissions exam at St. Ignatius," Ethan said quietly. "For high school."

Hank grunted while he processed that. Weighed it a bit.

"Her and her dad and her grandma went to the open house for Eighth Graders at the beginning of the month and she liked coming to the Christmas open house last week too," he said.

Hank just allowed another acknowledgement.

"I told her my test for middle school was really hard but she says she's good at testing," he said. "And I think she really wants to come to Iggy's. I told her it's not great but she said it'd be way better than public schools in her neighborhood. And I guess I'd sort of like her to be at Iggy's too. And it's sort of not fair that I get to go to private school and Evan's mom is making him go to private school for high school too."

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged.

"But she says that if she tests good, she needs a good character reference letter for her application and then even if she gets in she'll have to get one of the scholarships to get to go," E said more quietly.

"Hmm …," Hank grunted but felt his son's eyes looking up at him.

"You like Eva, right? And you know Father? Couldn't you write a letter for her that says she's really nice and really smart and ask Father to give her a scholarship? He gave me one."

Hank gripped at his boy's shoulder. "You're subsidy, Magoo. Means I'm not paying full tuition, but still costs a good chunk of change for you to go each year. Not sure when Eva's dad has got two other kids at home and one going off to college he'd be able to afford that."

"Eva said her grandma helps with things and that she could get a part-time job in the summer to help. After she turns fourteen."

Hank grunted another acknowledgement.

"But she wouldn't have to pay if she got a scholarship, right? And Eva's really smart. You could right in the letter that Eva's real smart and she works really hard and she's a really good motivator and leader and stubborn too. That she likes to read and she likes to play sports."

Hank gave him a thin smile at that. But E just stared at him with big eyes – pleading.

"So will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Be her letter? Talk to Father? Ask him to let Eva come to Iggy's with me? She'd likely help me with my homework, Dad. And she really wants to go to college and she says almost everyone out of Iggy's gets to go to college and gets scholarships to go."

He brushed at his boy's hair and held him – still processing, still thinking. Framing all this and what it meant and how to work it and how to play it. What and where he could push and what he should just let play out on its owns. Favors and bribes he had left and the value in leveraging them now versus saving them for later.

"Think maybe this is something Eva should talk to me about," he said.

E sighed and slumped against him. "She told me not to say anything. But I thought I might convince you better."

Hank made another little noise and gripped at his boy. "Let's just all think on it for a while. See what we come up with."

E gave a little nod but Hank could feel some of his defeat radiating against him.

But he wasn't opposed to it. He just needed to work on figuring out what any of this meant for this kid and his family. Bit of a puzzle that would take some time to fit together.

Truth was, though, for a lot of things, he tried not to over think. Tried to go with what just felt right. His gut. And his gut was saying that something about this felt right. Nothing wrong with trying. That maybe there was a bit of a hope for a better 2017 and an easier high school experience for his kid. And maybe that was more than worth pursing and just seeing how the chips fell.

 **AUTHOR NOTE:**

 **Just Keep Swimming, Grappling, Far Away, and Joy to the World have been reordered, if you haven't had a chance to read them yet.**

 **Your reviews and feedback are appreciated.**

 **However, at this point, I think this story will likely have about 3-4 more chapters and then wrap up. The readership has been OK in this story but far lower than my previous ones. The number of reviews have been low and though there are about five of you who consistently give nice reviews, constructive feedback and provide some interesting story, plot or chapter ideas. However, the vast majority of reviews I get — both publicly, as guests and by DM — is that this story is boring and depressing and consistently pressing for more and more Linstead and more and more M chapters, sex scenes and overly mushy-gushy lovey-dovey crap with wedding bells and babies.**

 **That's not what this story is about or what my writing is.**

 **I also, personally, don't feel what's what the show is about either.**

 **My personal feeling is that the show is Hank Voight's story and his show. There's been shifts and changes to that. I, personally, feel that's taken away from the quality of the show.**

 **But again, since I feel that the show — originally — was a story about Voight, that's what these stories are meant to be too. It's a story about Hank. Not a story about Erin or Jay or their relationship. Erin and Jay are supporting characters and their relationship is a subplot to the overall story.**

 **So, yes, they get arcs and plots — but they are not the main characters and they are not what's driving the story.**

 **Since this story is about Hank and belongs to Hank — yes, a lot (if not most or all) chapters include discussion about him or Ethan (who was a device purposely added to this AU to force the exploration of how the characters would react to different stressors that would lead them in different directions and experiences than what's set up in the show).**

 **The other thing to keep in mind is that prose writing is interior — not exterior. That is why there is thoughts and less dialogue. Scripts are dialogue. If you want scripts and dialogue, you can contact my DM and i can refer you to other platforms I am on — but they are paid services. And, I suspect most of the readers on here would not enjoy the stories told in them.**

 **Again, this platform is something I use as mostly stream of consciousness writing and warm up or cool down exercises. I simply post them as a curtesy because some people seem to enjoy reading it. And I do enjoy when I get the constructive feedback to take into consideration of how to perspective and develop the characters.**

 **Another thing I feel like people forget is that just because you don't 'see' something happening doesn't mean it's not happening. obviously Jay and Erin have lots of hours and days and minutes outside of this story where I'm sure they're "being there" for each other, and talking about lots of other things besides Hank and Ethan. But this is a story about Hank — so the scenes you "see" are ones relevant to the story.**

 **Another thing to remember is that this story — as told from the beginning — was always meant to just be 'scenes'. I've done my best to group them and do little arcs. But it was never meant to be an overall beginning-middle-end.**

 **Finally, I feel like again, people need reminding that as a writing exercise, this is mostly used as an outlet to explore emotions and reactions in characters (or personality types). Within that, I think anyone who's lost anyone knows that's not something you just move on from in weeks. It's something that occupies your thoughts or you come back to for a very long time. And it affects your daily life and how you experience it and comes into stark reality at certain points in your annual cycles, traditions and routines. The same goes for anyone dealing with an illness or dealing with a loved one who has an illness or disability. It is something that takes up a lot of your time and consciousness — and it does become a part of your daily life.**

 **As for Erin not having any friends on this story or in the show. I think a lot of that comes down to people not understanding storytelling or writing. But Erin (and Voight and Jay) and pretty much all the characters on the show fit very specific character archetypes used on television — especially for cop shows. This is not real life. It's fiction. And to force the extremes of human experience, you need to put these people at extremes. That's just part of writing and exploration of the human existence.**

 **Honestly, I love the first seasons of shows where the creators and writers aren't bowing to the demands and the inexperienced storytelling expectations of the viewers. They are writing their vision and their story. It's their creation rather than a mishmash of whatever. Network TV seems to really bow to viewers on some of these shows anymore. Part of that is financial and catering to demographics and sustaining advertising revenue. But in terms of writing and art — it's depressing. Cable does better. To a point.**

 **Enjoy the last few chapters of the story. They'll be posted over the next 1-4 weeks. The story will be re-ordered and listed as completed at that point. Right now I don't expect to do another sequel or post more chapters.**

 **People who are interested in my writing and willing to go to other platforms, can contact me directly by DM.**

 **Your readership, reviews and feedback on the final chapters is and will be appreciated.**


	39. Joy to the World

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

"So Ethan seems nice," Will heard Nina call at him from the kitchen and made himself pull his eyes away from the TV to stare at her effort at pulling groceries out of Whole Foods bags. Part of him knew he should be a gentlemen – and a good live-in boyfriend – and go over and help her unpack and put away the food. But he didn't. He just didn't feel like it. He hated this time of year and he hated even more trying to act like a happy couple especially when Nina was so clearly happy. It was hard for him to feel quite the same way when this time of year also involved going to various social functions from work and each and every one of them Natalie had decided she should go to too. With Jeff Clarke. She actually seemed happy too. Or she was just better at pretending than he was.

"Choi?" he squinted at her and then rotated his eyes back to the TV. "Yeah. He's a decent guy. Good doctor. Senior residency is kicking him in the ass …"

"Voight," she put to him firmly.

Will's eyes drifted back to her and he squinted at her harder with a touch of confusion. 'Voight?"

"Ethan Voight," Nina told him again, giving him that unimpressed look of hers.

She was good at it. He got the impression that she'd learned to expect very little from men but for some reason she'd bought into his bullshit. She'd decided he was better than the rest. And he supposed at the time he thought he could be. Or he might be. Because she was a nice girl. Weirdly quirky. And just straightforward.

He liked that. There wasn't the drama or the bullshit. He needed that. He'd dealt with women who had too much drama for too long. Strung him along to break his heart. Always picking the rugged good looks for the types like his brother. Skipping out on the crazy ginger. Apparently being a doctor – a surgeon, a fucking plastic surgeon who could do their Botox and lip enhancements and breast enlargements but who also fixed the cleft palettes of little poverty-ridden kids in Africa - didn't count for much with the ladies.

Him being him seemed to be enough for Nina. She seemed to like him and his idiosyncrasies. He wasn't blind to that. And he had his fucking brother reminding him of that too. Every fucking time he saw Jay. That Nina wasn't some bimbo or Ice Queen. That she was just a nice woman. And he should treat her that way. And he did. It wasn't like he was outwardly mean to her. Hell, he even really fucking liked some of her idiosyncrasies too. Sometimes he thought he even loved some of them. Loved her.

And then other times he just didn't know. He was all moving kind of fast. Even for him. And he liked that. Because usually he was the one pushing for things to move faster. To even get his foot in the door and to make it be more than a one-night stand with the latest bimbo, as Jay kept telling him was his usual type. He actually used more crash language. But that was Jay. Still the Canaryville in him. He'd rather forget about Canaryville. And Bridgeport. But this time, though, it was Nina who was pushing things along. And that'd been good. It'd been nice to have someone – something. It'd been convenient timing with his whole money situation and lawsuit situation and life situation.

But that was part of it. He kept had this gnawing feeling that maybe he was in this for the wrong reasons. That maybe he just wanted – or needed – to be in a relationship because Nat was in a relationship. He had to show her he was OK too. And he was OK with that. Or maybe he just really fucking hated that his little brother was suddenly jetting past him in the whole life milestone experience. That someone Jay – who'd seemed like he'd be a perpetual bachelor, if not an outright monk for the majority of his life – was engaged with wedding bells already in the distance and ringing louder and louder. That his kid brother had gone and bought a house. Not a condo. An actual house. And even though it wasn't exactly showy, it also wasn't exactly Jay's usual caves. It had this clear air around it. That it was the kind of place you bought when you saw kids on the horizon. A place with space for a family to grow.

It was just all so fucking strange. Will supposed, in a kind of cruel way, he'd never really expected Jay to get to that point in his life. He was too fucked up. And he didn't mean that to be mean. It was just reality. They both were. Just in different ways. But he thought Jay's ways meant that he'd pretty much stay in his hole and live for the job until he got gunned down somewhere.

It was hard sometimes. Hard to be happy for him. He knew that made him a shitty person. And he did try to be happy for him. He was fucking proud of him. Really proud that his little brother had managed all that. It was more that when he looked at what Jay was achieving and how he was growing as a human being, it made Will look back on himself. And sometimes that reflection was pretty hard to look at. That made it hard to feel happy.

And it also made him wonder more about if he was doing the right thing. If he was in the right relationship. But, he did know that Nina made him happy. Having her around. Just having something and someone to go home to and to do things with and to talk to … it made things easier. It made life better. So why did he get so down about it sometimes? Second-guess it all so much?

"Ethan Voight," she raised her eyebrows at him and nodded because he was still staring at her like a deer in headlights. "Your soon to be brother-in-law."

He shook his head again. "What?" he said.

Nina sighed at him. "Erin's little brother," she said. "Do I need to remind you who Erin is too?"

He rolled his eyes at that and finally did pull himself up off the couch. Because he really was being an ass sitting there watching her work. He knew it. He'd already let her go grocery shopping on her own after work. And he hadn't started dinner when he got home from shift. But he worked shifts. Long, stressful, intense ones. In Emergency. She just sat in a windowless basement from 9-to-5 staring into a microscope. He was tired. Drained. He didn't care what they ate for dinner. Or what they had in the fridge in the lead up to reduced holiday hours. They lived in a city. A huge foodie city. There was always going to be some grocery store or corner market open 24 hours – and delivery options galore. Delivery would be better than either of their cooking anyways. Not that it looked like Nina was planning on cooking either. She'd grabbed something from the hot table at the Whole Foods. Their go-to cooking solution.

He dug around in one of the bags and pulled out some of the fruit to take to the fridge.

"Where'd you meet Ethan?" he asked passively. Likely the hospital. Kid was there enough. But didn't know how or why Nina would've actually met him. Wasn't even sure she'd have reason to deal with some passing vial of blood or bottle of urine with his name on it.

"Whole Foods," she put to him with another raised eyebrow. There was amused annoyance in it. "I told you I saw Erin and Jay there when I came in."

"Oh," Will shook his head and shoved the produce into the drawer, grabbing the rest of the brown bag to work at sorting the veg. It really looked like Nina thought they weren't going to have many grocery options until after Christmas. And that she thought they'd want to eat extra healthy over the next week. He supposed that wasn't a bad plan. He was starting to feel the sugar, carb and alcohol hangover setting in already and they still had to get through the actual big day. Eating properly while they were at home likely wasn't a bad idea at all. "I was watching the news …"

She glanced into the living room at the TV he'd left running. The anchors and reporters still droning on in their dinner hour report. "Anything interesting?"

"People shooting people," he provided. "And we're supposed to get a bunch more snow before Christmas."

"That will be nice," Nina said far too cheerily. "I like when we have a white Christmas. Reminds me of home. Always feels so strange when there's no snow."

He nodded. He restrained himself from telling her – again – that she should just go home for the holidays. Head back up to Minnesota and be with her family – and the white and the freezing cold. That Christmas was going to make up a long weekend this year. That she could easily book a few days off and make a whole week of it. But she was having none of it. Because it was their first Christmas together. It was their first Christmas together in the condo. That she wanted to be with him, and since he couldn't come with her, she wasn't going to go home either.

He'd restrained from telling her that he'd actually volunteered to work through the holidays. That that was his Christmas tradition. And that he'd really rather be alone. That Christmas was just too much stress and sadness and politics and introspection without even getting his surviving family involved. But he'd also refrained from telling her so far that his mom had died the day after Christmas. That he might've fucked up that period in his life badly – his relationship with his mom and his relationship with Jay. Failed both of them. But now that he was back in Chicago, he'd been making it a priority to spend at least part of the day with Jay. To go to mom's gravesite. To try to fix some past wrongs. As best he could. If he ever really could.

But Will knew if he'd told Nina any of that, she would've been even more insistent on staying. Not that not telling her was helping his case in trying to push her out the door either.

"What were they doing at Whole Foods?" he asked instead, in a passive effort to make some kind of conversation.

Even though he knew it was a stupid question. Because they were obviously doing groceries. And he knew that the Whole Foods across from their building was still the closest Whole Foods to Jay and Erin's place. And that Jay was the kind of person who did like to have the house stocked with almond milk, hemp hearts and organic, non-GMO carrots. Which was funny in its own way, because it was pretty clear Erin was not. He'd seen the way that woman ate a burrito and put away a beer. She was no someone who'd be drinking one of Jay's green, hemp, pea protein smoothies after a morning workout.

"They were at the hot bar too," Nina provided to his dumb-ass question, though. She gave him the benefit of the doubt a lot. He liked that. She caught his sarcasm and called him on it. Or she had something just as witty and base to come back with. And she knew when something was sarcasm and when something was just a leading question. And she took it for what it was. He liked that too. "They were at Med this afternoon. They were just picking up a quick dinner. I guess they had Ethan tonight."

Will made a mild sound of acknowledgement. "Yea …," he allowed flatly. "I think they have him two or three nights a week now."

The whole situation was strange. It actually was more than strange. It was kind of fucked up. He had a whole lot of thoughts about it. But he'd tried to share some of them with Jay. But Jay had wanted to hear them about as much as he wanted to hear any of his brother's unsolicited little mini lectures and philosophy sessions.

Still, sometimes he wasn't so sure Jay had a full appreciation of what he was buying into. And Will didn't really have a full appreciation of why his little brother would want to buy shares in that mess. That kind of commentary, though, only got some daggers from Jay with some short, harsh statements about how he wished he'd had someone willing to buy into their family when they were Ethan's age. And then after that, Jay usually avoided having any interaction with him for a week or two. And if they had to have interaction in a professional capacity, he'd get that other Jay. The one who was a giant asshole who didn't like anyone. Basically, not his little brother. The cop. And the kind of Chicago cop that no one really liked.

"Did you know he's on chemo for his multiple sclerosis?" Nina asked, eyeing him with some concern.

Will gave a small shrug. "Ah, yea," he acknowledged. "He's been in some sort of medical trial for aggressive, progressive M.S.. I thought the chemo part was done, though …"

"Apparently, the trial is going into the maintenance phase," Nina told him.

Will made a small mental note of that. He'd been following the trial a bit because they did get some people coming in with M.S. symptoms in the E.D. Usually scared the shit out of the patients when their bodies started malfunctioning like that. And all the literature showed that multiple sclerosis was poorly diagnosed – and even poorly referred onward – in an Emergency realm. Most of the patients they saw would be the relapsing, remitting variety of M.S. but there'd been a couple patients who'd come in with wonky neurological, immune and inflammatory symptoms in close enough proximity to their episodes with such inconclusive and confusing blood work to get any read on what was going on in their bodies, they'd been able to draw enough educated deductions through the process of elimination that they'd been able to get the right testing and imaging ordered to get a progressive diagnosis.

Seemed like the disease was really hell for the patients looking down that barrel. And knowing that Erin's little brother was facing it, he'd taken some passing interest in the study. Had referred some other patients in that direction. But he hadn't actively been following the outcomes. Nor had Jay been updating him on them in Ethan's sake. But they didn't talk about Ethan much. It seemed like a bit of a conflict of interest, seeing as the kid was in and out of the ER so much and seemed to be headed in the direction of being not just a patient – but some sort of family.

"Guess that means the trial must be working …," he allowed.

Nina gave a little nod but it was accompanied with a shrug. She dealt with the statistics, details, results and report writing aspect of any sort of testing model more than he did. Any of this stuff only "worked" so well when you got into the statistics of it and really put it under the literal microscope.

"They didn't say," she said. "Just said that he's on a few days of methylprednisolone before getting the cytoxan. So he's starving right now. It looked like he had about thirty-dollars worth of food picked out off the hot table."

"That's not hard to do at Whole Foods," Will muttered. They really needed to find a new go-to grocery store. There was a reason that Whole Foods was called Whole Pay Check.

Nina allowed a little nod again. She was already working at arranging the what must've been at least fourteen to twenty dollars worth of dinner onto plates for them. But she cast him a look.

"You never told me about all the scarring on his face? Or that the M.S. has him on crutches …"

Will just shrugged again at that. They really didn't talk about Ethan much at all. He was actually almost surprised she'd even remembered whatever passing mention had been made of the kid. Though, Erin might've said more directly about the kid to her at some point in one of the handful of times they'd had them over. He didn't get the impression that Jay and Erin liked coming over there that much. Not that he liked inviting them too much. Though, Nina did. He got the impression she'd be happy to have some sort of weekly or monthly 'family' sanctioned dinner.

But he always just felt so judged when Erin and Jay were sitting there – looking as awkward and uncomfortable as he felt – while they stared at him. He didn't really like going to their place either. But they'd been far less inviting than Nina was. They hadn't even had a house warming. Something Nina had noted several times. He suspected she thought he might've hidden the invitation from her because he didn't want to go. Or that maybe, more accurately, she'd picked up on that cold, uninterested vibe that both Jay and Erin could put off.

They were alike in a lot of ways like that. Will had pretty much accepted that was just them. But he suspected just as much that Nina might think it meant they didn't like her. He hadn't done much to try to quell any of those fears, though. But he got the impression that Jay liked her well enough. Or at least liked her well enough that he had warned Will against being an ass. Which his little brother seemed to think was his usual state of being … at least when it came to women and relationships.

Nina accepted his shrug, though, and didn't press it. Which was likely best, because he didn't much know what to say about any of that beyond items that fell under doctor-patient privilege and brother-brother privilege. And then just things he didn't know. He knew the kid had gotten badly hurt in the collision that killed his mother. But hadn't looked for more detail than that, though, he'd gotten the impression from some colleagues that more lurid details were widely available if he felt like digging into back issues of the Sun-Times. But it didn't seem to be something Jay wanted to tell him about either, so he'd decided it likely wasn't really an area he should go digging into himself. Maybe Jay wasn't supposed to know either. And if he ended up knowing more than Jay it'd just make awkward situations awkwarder.

"Well, he seems nice," Nina allowed. "He's chatty. Talked about a mile a minute after he found out I work in pathology. He says he'll have lots of questions for me on Saturday. Erin warned they'll be never-ending. That he's really into biology and paleontology and astronomy. Seems like a neat kid."

Will just nodded. But the reality was that he'd really just treated Ethan as a patient and had tried to stay really removed because of the whole family aspect coming into play. He'd already pulled a few strings for Hank Voight's son on Jay's request. The kind of strings that helped get them the M.S. diagnosis faster than they likely would've when they first started bringing that kid into the hospital so sick a year ago. But that was before the engagement and the increasingly weird family dynamic that went on in that household that he didn't really understand. His family was screwed up enough. He didn't want to get too wrapped up in someone else's.

The other reality, though, was that the mention of Saturday made him prickle too because he was still trying to figure out a way to get out of that. He thought it was likely going to come down to volunteering to do a double shift at the last possible moment. Because right now it looked like he'd be fully available to at least make an appearance on Christmas Eve and Nina seemed far too keen on this. Another reason he was trying to convince her to just go back to Grand Forks for the holidays.

He supposed that the other option was to subject himself to spending Christmas Eve at his dad's and the new wife's place. But taking Nina to that would be even worse than spending the night at Jay and Erin's. And there'd be no way she'd agree to skipping out on meeting his father either, when Will wasn't entirely if and when he'd ever introduce her to dad.

Nina wouldn't be his father's type at all. If anything, Dad would likely figure out some way to make him feel like shit for dating a woman like Nina. Like there was something wrong with her. Because she was plain and not exactly pretty but not exactly homely and not exactly skinny but not exactly chubby. And she worked in pathology. And she worked period. But maybe he should go and let his dad say all that to him. Because he didn't want to hear it. Any of it. And it'd only make him defend Nina more. The perfections under her imperfections. She was a good person. And she made him feel good too. There was nothing wrong about that. That's the kind of woman he should be dating. Exactly.

"They're doing some baking and cookie decorating in the afternoon," Nina added, giving him another glance. "So … Erin said it's OK if I stop by before you finish up your shift. I think I might."

Will gave her a little sigh at that and kept her eyes. She caught them. She clearly read them. But she just pushed the plated food toward him and turned to get the utensils.

"I think it sounds like fun," she said. "I'm a pretty pro Christmas cookie decorator and baker. And their little nephew will be there. Henry? That will be cute. How old is he? One-ish?"

"Yea … I guess," Will allowed but caught her eyes again as she turned back around and tried to ignore him as she moved to get glasses out of the cupboard.

"How old's Ethan?" she asked. "I got the impression from things that had been said that he must be a tween or teenager. But he's small for his age?"

"I think he's … eleven. Or maybe twelve," Will said with a shrug.

Nina gave him a condescending look. "You don't know how old your brother-in-law is?"

"He's thirteen," Will corrected firmly. Because he actually did know. He dealt with the kid's chart enough. He just was trying to stay uninterested and uninvolved.

Nina gave a little nod. "Well, I was thinking, that maybe we should pick up something for Ethan and Henry. Just small. Since we're going to be there on Christmas Eve and especially if I'm over in the afternoon." She glanced at him from pouring water into the glasses, setting them on the counter and again ignoring his disapproving look. "Did you get your brother something yet?"

"Jay and I don't really exchange gifts," Will put flatly.

She huffed at him. "I think we should get them something," she pressed. "A host gift slash house-warming gift. Since they didn't have a house-warming."

Will let himself slouch on the counter and gazed at her more. "Nina, I really don't want to go to this Christmas Eve thing."

She raised her eyebrow teasingly at him. "You've got better plans for me on Christmas Eve?"

He gave her a grin. "Every room … if we stay in for the night."

She shrugged at him and brushed passed to head to the breakfast nook where he'd placed their dinner on the table. "I'll settle for just the bedroom, if it means I get to spend some time with your family, that includes two little people all excited."

He gazed at his hands clasped on the table, letting out a slow defeated breath but grabbed his glass of water and joined her at the table. She had already dug in and glanced at him as he sat, swallowing.

"Do you know if Ethan has a microscope?" she asked. "I know that's not that small. But I might be able to wrangle up a used beginner one."

He tilted his head at her. "Nina, they aren't my family. Ethan, Henry, Hank. That's Erin's family."

"They're going to be your in-laws," she put back to him and put some more of the lukewarm Whole Foods version of Indian food chana masala into her mouth.

"They're going to be Jay's in-laws," he corrected.

She made a dismissive gesture. "It kind of extends. I mean, I call my brother's wife my sister-in-law."

"Nina …," he sighed at her again.

"They're important to Jay," she put back at him more firmly. "He's important to you. Besides, Christmas is about family. We all just go and grin and bear it for the couple days. It won't be that bad. I think it might even be kind of fun. Christmas cookie decorating, presents, lights on the tree, Home Alone, Rudolph. All of that."

"You haven't met these people—"

"I want to meet these people," she interrupted, giving him a sterner look. "Erin invited us."

"OK," Will put to her, starting to talk with his hands in an effort to really get his point across. "If you think Jay and Erin aren't that friendly—"

"They aren't that bad," she interrupted again. "They're just cops. They're both nice enough. I like them. Erin was friendly tonight."

He just raised his eyebrow at her and stared at her. "Wait until you meet Hank Voight."

Hank was OK. He was pretty much what you'd expect out of a cop too. He was a decent enough guy in the times he'd been invited to a few things at the man's home. But he also hadn't had to deal with the man that much. But he'd also seen him cut onto hospital staff and inanimate objects at Med when it came to his son. He was far from friendly. Informed but cold. It was to an even greater degree when he was in Med or the E.D. for something involving work. He was professional – but completely took over. Thought he was still in charge. And there were just such mixed reviews about him among the staff and the higher ups. Some people liked him. Some people hated him. Most people weren't sure if they trusted or respected him. And then there were the stories you heard about him whispered under people's breaths. It just added to Will's apprehension about what kind of shit-storm his little brother was marrying into. As if CPD wasn't enough of a shit-storm on its own. He was adding this whole dynamic of intermingling church and state. It was just asking for trouble. That he knew.

But apparently Nina still didn't quite see it that way. "If he raised Erin and Ethan, he can't be that bad," she shrugged and continued on with her meal. "Besides, there will be other people there besides him. Jay, Erin, Ethan. Little Henry. His mom. Erin said depending on how Ethan's doing after his cyotxan, one of his friends might be over to help with the cookies in the afternoon. It just sounds like a nice family day to me. And, that's Christmas."

"Nina—" he tried again.

But her eyes just got sterner. "Go buy your brother some movie that can show off the whatever features on his whatever new TV and you can go bury yourself in the basement," she said and then seemed to have a thought, her eyes softening and lighting up. She gestured at him with her fork. "Or you were talking about some game your mom got you guys every year? Do they still put one out? He'd like that."

Will sighed and shook his head. He wasn't sure Jay would like that or not. Things to do with childhood – and sharing them and memories – were a bit of a crapshoot. Actually, it was more like navigating through a minefield. And tromping through minefields was one of Jay's expertise, not his. He always seemed to get burned. Badly.

"Nina …," he sighed harder and found her eyes.

But she just stared at him with force. The one that he'd learned no matter how gentle and soft spoken she could be – how she could be so kind and understanding and quirky – she also didn't take no for an answer easily. After she set her mind to something, she got it her way. It was amazing she hadn't figured out how to raise the dead yet down in her lab with the attitude and force she went at pursuing some things.

"Will," she put to him, "I'm staying here because I want to spend Christmas with you. But I also want a Christmas. We aren't going to have that sitting here. Your brother and his fiancée are hosting the holidays this year. We've been invited. We're going to go. And you're going to make yourself be merry and bright."

And then she sparkled that smile at him – as if to prove her point – and looked back to her dinner, getting another forkful and moving it toward her mouth before wagging it slightly at his untouched plate.

"Your supper is getting cold," she said. "The hot table has enough bacteria growing in it. You don't want to leave that sitting there too long."

And Will just sighed and picked up his fork. He was listening to her again. Doing as he was told. And some days he didn't know if he liked that – needed that – or if he really truly hated it. But apparently now he had official plans for Christmas. Joy to the world …

 **AUTHOR NOTE: So I seem to get a lot of reviews from 'guests' who ask for me to make Jay and Erin 'be there more for each other'. I'm really not sure what you're asking for or want at this point. You'l have to leave a better description of what you think is missing or PM me. But if you're asking for them to express their undying love for each other in an overly mushy and gushy way in every Jay/Erin chapter, then that's not going to happen. If that's what you feel 'being there for each other is' — I don't exactly agree. I also feel that 1) You're watching a different Chicago PD than me; 2) You perspective the characters in a different way than me; and, 3) You haven't been really reading my stories to see how the characters and their relationship is represented in this AU. Because in this AU — that's just not them. If you're asking for something other than proclamations of love, please be more specific.**

 **I'm going to try to update a few more times between now and Christmas and/or New Years. But no promises. But, though I'll work on chapters around the holiday lead-up, I'm not sure if I'll have one right at Christmas Eve or Christmas Day before we reach the holidays IRL. We'll see. I'm kind of jumping around based on ideas and what's easiest to write right now.**

 **Thank you for your readership and reviews. I still get the impression that I don't have as many readers or as many people who are enjoying this incarnation of this story. But I still appreciate getting comments and feedback.**


	40. Christmas Wish

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank glanced up from scrolling through the various incoming bullshit on his phone. Think that the fucking CPD could invest in some better computers for their fucking Intelligence Unit. Took the damn thing so long to login, load any program or even boot back up after it's fucking screensaver went on, he'd be done checking all his email on his phone and not need to look at it on the paperweight taking up space on his desk. Slightly easier to do his hunt and peck method on keyboard. But using the damn phone to respond to anything was an even better excuse to justify a couple word responses. Keep it fucking simple.

Erin – his girl – was standing in his door, though. Not often that happened anymore. Not unless he summoned her. Didn't get the occasional chitchats or checking in. Or her sitting down to update him on the case only for it to devolve in at least a couple minutes of some casual father-daughter time. As much as they let that really happen at work. But he missed it. Liked her around on the job. Cheered him up. Kept him grounded. Supposed though she'd both aged out of that and opted out of it at this point. Not his 20-something greenie detective anymore. Thrity-year-old woman. Been on the job long enough to have seen enough to not need or want dad looking over her shoulder. Who ever really did. But she definitely didn't want it from him anymore. Not now. Just wanted to be another one of his underlings on the job. Tried to honor that as best he could. Sort of better anyway. She'd gotten a bit too comfortable with treating him like the guy who raised her rather than her boss. They'd had some head-butts about that. Thing was, he'd rather have those kinds of head-butts than her just not talking to him. Or trying to completely ignore he was the guy who raised her.

Looked like that day, though, she might be looking for the guy who raised her. Not her boss. Knew it was extenunating circumstances. Eth's medical trial stuff going on that week. Almost being Christmas. There were some caveats in place about how they were treating each other. Or maybe how she was tolerating him. Or maybe he could just hope they were finally starting to settle into their new dynamic and normal. That he was getting closer to being able to be the father-figure in her life again – rather than some regret and burden.

She gestured like she wanted to come in. He gave a passive grunt. She accepted it but only stepped in a step before gesturing at the door. He nodded. She reached and shut it. Still just standing there. Could see she was holding a bag. It was keeping her from crossing her arms. But from the way she was fidgeting, could tell her wanted to.

He gestured at the chair across from his desk, putting his phone down. "Want to sit?" he offered.

She let out a little sigh. Clearly didn't exactly want to. But accepted the offer. The bag got put between her feet and she fidgeted a bit, rubbing at her eyebrow and briefly avoiding eye contact before meeting his eyes.

"You're heading out soon?" she put to him.

Voight gave a pucker but allowed a nod. Glanced down at his watch. "Yea. Supposed to have him over at Med for one to put him through the gauntlet."

Erin gave her own nod. He rocked back in his chair a bit. Clearly more to it then that.

"Something on your mind?" he put to her. Because it was the first time in months that she'd actually left herself open enough for him to put that to her and for her to not just shut him down as soon as he said it. First time in months that he thought he might get something that resembled an answer.

She just shook her head and gave a little sigh, slouching back in her own chair. "I just don't understand why we need to be putting him through this before Christmas," she said.

Hank gave a little shrug. "Doc said—"

"It could've waited a couple weeks," she cut him off, giving him a look.

He caught her eyes a bit more sternly. "The cytoxan weakens his immune. Say we should watching him for the first two weeks after his dose. Keep him away from the sickies," he explained again.

Knew he didn't much need to. Had let Erin come to the follow-up. She'd been sitting there while the doc explained them moving into the maintenance phase of E's medical trial. The fucking medical trial that seemed to be working pretty well for them. At least for now.

Managed to get through the first phase without new lesions showing up in his brain or on his spine. Had his share of pseudo flares and even a handful of flared up symptoms. But hadn't had an actual exacerbation. Still had a whole shit load of symptoms and their implications to deal with – but had the disease stopped in its tracks from progressing for the moment. And considering the pace it'd been attaching his boy's neurological and immune system – how fucking scary that'd been for all of them – he'd take continuing on with the trail. Trying to keep this thing at bay as long as they fucking could. Keep learning how to operate in the status quo rather than dealing with more debilitating affects of the illness. Let him have something that resembled a childhood. Even if that fucking meant that what was left of it – his teen year and high school career – was going to still be filled with doctors appointments and rehab and pills and injections and MRIs and chemotherapy. Hopefully at least outside of those times, they could have E feeling semi-normal. They could send him into adulthood with the best health and the best chances they could manage given the circumstances.

And maybe between now and then they'd figure out how to truly fucking manage M.S. – to reverse it or send it into remission or cure it. For now slowing the progression down seemed like it was worth the effort and worth the risks and the inconveniences – especially since it seemed to be working in Magoo's case.

"Figured now is a good time to do it," Hank added, more in defence of himself. "Out of school for the couple weeks. See how he does with his first maintenance dose."

"But he's going to be completely out of commission on Christmas," Erin put to him.

He let out his own little sigh and rocked in his chair again. "Been doing OK on the Medrol this time."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Medrol is not the chemo," she contended.

He grunted and rocked in his chair eyeing her. Wasn't much point in arguing about this now. Were already too far down the path to really be turning back.

"It's a real small dose," he tried in some reassurance. Knew his reassurances didn't seem to count for much with her anymore. Knew too that she worried a whole lot about E. They all did.

"It made him sick in the first round," she argued. "Now we're going to be giving it to him every second month?"

"Erin," he stressed again. "They flooded him with it before. High dose. High intensity. This is a maintenance dose. One-time thing."

"It's not a one-time thing," she said with distaste.

He shrugged. She was right. Once - every second month. For the next year. That kept it at bay in Magoo and in year three, they'd move into every four and then every six. Then they'd try a maintenance dose once a year and see how it did. Had to hold out hope that it did what it was supposed to. That the doctors knew what the fuck they were doing. That this was going to work.

"Doc said with the dose it's at, he should be fine. Will bounce back in two or three days. Be careful with his immune system for ten-to-fourteen," he tried. Sometimes you just had to stick to the talking points. Internalize them.

"Christmas is on Sunday," she said.

He frowned a bit at her. "Erin," he tried more gently. "Worst case scenario, he's going to have some vomiting and fatigue. Will have stuff to help with that. It will sedate him. Him being sedated this year, won't be such a bad thing, if we need to go that route."

She sighed at him and gazed down at the bag between feet, that she still hadn't disclosed what it was or what was in it. But he had some guesses. Either was going to be something for him to take it to keep Magoo distracted and level during today's various tests and wait times, the same for tomorrow's four-hour drip, or something Christmas related. Sort of hoped it wasn't the latter. Because that got him thinking that she might be second-guessing their tenacious Christmas plans in their attempts to act like a family – to be the family he wanted them to be. Wanted back in his life.

"He's sure he doesn't want me there tomorrow?" she asked without looking at him.

"You want to book a day off or call-in with a family day or sick leave, that's your business," he provided.

She glanced up at him. Holding his eyes. "Has he asked about me being there?"

Hank gave his head a little shake. Had been their usual routine that week. Trying to keep things as normal as they ever did for him. Routine and schedule. Erin and Halstead had taken for his Medrol on the usual evenings and afternoons they had him. Voight had taken him on his nights. "Knows we need to split up these kinds of appointments. Can't both be there all the time."

She went back to gazing at her feet. Knew too that she'd prefer she was always there. Or it was just her taking him and she got the most torque in the decision-making. Wasn't her kid, though. No matter what she thought about him as a father.

"He's going to be fine, Erin," he assured. "This is old hat. Planning to Evalyn over for a movie marathon tomorrow night."

"He'll likely be puking his guts out," she muttered.

Hank shrugged. "Maybe," he conceded. "But think that little girl understands that too and won't bat any eye about it."

"What movies?" she asked under her breath.

"Don't know," he admitted. "Sounds like Christmas or Star Wars."

She gave him a small glance at that. "You still holding him off on that?"

Just stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Too busy to go," he allowed. "Been asking. Will start pushing when we get through the holidays."

"We'll take him," Erin muttered again. "Monday. Maybe. Depending on how he's doing. If anything jumps off here over the holidays."

Hank just grunted. Knew that was the plan. Had been made clear to him. He was fine with that. Didn't much want to endure more Star Wars than he already had to. Going to the theater to drop wads of cash on overrated Hollywood blockbusters wasn't his definition of a high quality way to be spending his time. Wouldn't be invading on his girl and the son-in-law doing that with the kid.

Erin let out a slow breath and looked up at him. Wasn't frustration about the flick coming out of her, though. Could still tell she didn't really like she wasn't going to be at Med tomorrow. But thought they'd all been through enough of this that they had the understanding that they really didn't need multiple people sitting with him during the treatment. It was pretty much just sitting there with your thumb up your ass.

Might get to spend the first hour or so watching a flick or reading to Magoo but after that, the Zofran usually kicked in in the drip and he nodded right out. Then you were just sitting there. Could think of a lot better things to be doing with his time, especially at this time of year. Whole pile of crap that still needed to get done on the work-front and the home-front. Didn't need multiple people there to watch IV bags slowly empty and to stare at Eth while he slept. If anything, more than one of them there was just them taking up more space and getting underfoot of the nurses and technicians milling about and checking his vitals and changing out the bags as each med in the cocktail was streamed into his system.

"E was on this morning about wanting to go back into Ignatius for the year-end Christmas mass and the open house," Hank said.

"Still trying to fit in," Erin said with a greater degree of distaste.

Smacked at that. Knew there was truth to that. But didn't know how awful it was that E try to fit in. Or that he was still trying. Had to count for something. Had to hope too that something would eventually click. That it wouldn't be like his other two at Ignatius.

"It's the candlelight service," Hank provided. "The kids like that one. Only going if he's up for it after this afternoon," But kid likely would be, though. Just Medrol today, and a whole shitload of blood work and pissing in a cup and some X-rays before they gave him the chemo in the morning. Medrol would likely just leaving him bouncing off the walls. Had all week. Was almost looking forward to taking home that sedated kid tomorrow night instead. "He'd asked if you were planning on coming."

Erin made her own grunt of acknowledgement. "He texted," she allowed. Definite tone now. Knew she never got too excited about anything that dragged her back in Ignatius' doors. Did her best to avoid it. But did show her face sometimes for E's sake.

"And?" he put to her more directly.

She shrugged. "I think we're going to pass," she said. "We haven't really done anything for Christmas yet. We were going to pick up some food. A tree."

"Good luck finding one …," he grunted. This his own degree of distaste. Didn't much care about her decoration situation. Or wouldn't have – if they weren't going to be there on Christmas Eve and he hadn't had to hear E stressing about the fact that they were going to have Christmas in a house with no Christmas decorations.

She shrugged again. "Guess we'll do Charlie Brown or artificial," she said.

"Need ornaments?" he offered.

"Was just going to see if the gas station had any," she said flatly.

Knew it was a bit of a jab but it still drew a small smile out of him. Christmas ornaments from a fill-up weren't so bad. Had served him and Camille well enough. Survived three kids. Surviving the first grandkid so far. Looked a hell of a lot nicer than some of the Made in China plastic crap in the store aisles anymore too.

She gave her head a little shake. "We were going to pick up a couple things," she allowed. "Get the lights on tonight. Thought Ethan might want to make some garlands or salt-dough ornaments on Saturday. Let him decorate it."

He grunted at that and gave his head a little nod. His boy still liked doing that. Still liked putting up the decorations. Still liked making the garland. Still liked decorating the cookies. That year it'd been more of a process. A fucking timeline and then the negations to try to get Henry involved in every step. Olive had been a reluctant participant. Still not so keen on coming in the house or staying for long. But he'd take her being in the city for now. That it looked like she was going to stay put for a while. Because who fucking moved back to Chicago in the winter if they weren't going to stay a while? So the compromise they'd reached was some Boys' Afternoons. Wasn't a bad thing. Gave him and E some time with H. Gave Olive some time to herself. Get some unpacking and organizing done at the condo. Do her own Christmas shopping or grocery shopping or errands and chores and cleaning done without a toddler flying sixty-billion miles an hour behind her with every step she made and the sirens wailing in the process.

"Seems to think Evalyn's invited," he put to Erin.

Good and bad news for his girl. Extra kid underfoot or her getting to be the bad guy in telling E the girl wasn't actually invited. But good in that little Eva seemed to be pretty patient at helping E with some of dexterity issues. And her being there seemed to calm his frustration level down too. Kept him focused on completing the task and not throwing a tantrum about his hands or fingers not co-operating or his tremor making it a near impossible operation to begin with. Instead he'd work at it slow and steady. Avoid embarrassing himself in front of his little crush – and a kid his own age. More importantly a kid his own age who'd been through about just as much bullshit as him in her young life too.

She shrugged, though. "I told him she could come over in the afternoon. Evan too."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Evan's at his dad's for the holidays."

"Oh," Erin acknowledged. "He hadn't said."

Gave his own shrug to that. Hadn't seen Evan since the weekend. Maybe E hadn't absorbed that was the plan. Had mostly heard it from Gwen anyway while watching the kids make their way around the rink. Or heard her complain about it. That woman could talk. Too much for his liking. Lawyer, though. Had to expect that. They all had mouths on them.

Usually gave her a level of accommodation in tolerating the chatter, though. Talking about sick kids wasn't shop talk. Not the kind of thing you wanted to disclose at work much even in a chit-chat session. Didn't get the sense that Gwen was much for water-cooler talk at work anyway. Focused on her job when she was at work. Focused on her boy when she was home. As a single parent, knew that meant you didn't get a lot in the way of people's ears to tug at in terms of what you were going through. So tried not to be too rude or to walk way from her too much. Nice enough lady. And she was good about accommodating the kids for various weekend get-togethers and sleepovers. Basically making the kids feel like a fairly normal little chum group. And he appreciated that. So listened to the babble.

Could understand where she was coming from on this, though. He wouldn't be keen on not getting to have one of his kids for the holidays. Had had a couple holidays where he didn't get all three of them. Supposed this year was going to be the first of the rest of his life where he didn't get all three of them definitively. But at least he was going to have more than he thought. For a while he thought it was likely just going to be him and E that year. That he'd likely spend a chunk of the day by himself too while E was over at Erin and Halstead's place. But seemed like they were all managing a bit of a mea culpa. For the holidays. To a point. Get at least some time with his remaining son and his daughter. His daughter-in-law and his grandson. In one spot. He'd take it.

But apparently Evan's parents weren't able to manage a similar ceasefire or mea culpa for their boy's sake. Wasn't sure how the kid felt about it. But got the sense that the situation was messy. Could read between the lines there. More than apparent. Didn't get the sense that the boy was that close to his dad or too interested in him at all. Or that the dad was too interested in his boy either. But supposed that didn't mean they never wanted to see each other. Had his suspicions, though, that the guy taking Evan for the holidays might be more a sucker-punch to Gwen than him having any real interest about having his son for a week or two. Maybe it'd be good for the boy, though. If the guy wasn't too much of an asshole. Could tell the kid was struggling in Chicago. Maybe going back home would help. Have friends and family there to lift him up a bit. Not the cheeriest kid.

Be interesting to see how the Triple E did without the third Musketeer around, though. Supposed it was only two weeks and that both Ethan and Evalyn had their own commitments and family time arranged. That E might be a little run off his feet – even in the doc was saying it should only be two or three days of fatigue. But Eth and Ev definitely had their own little plans brewing too. Getting a little attached at the hip lately. Had to hope Evan didn't come back to find himself as the third wheel. Might vamp up that possible love triangle even more, if he did. Might take that drama in 2017 over the drama 2016 had brought for his family, though.

"Know with school getting out, Eva's going to be babysitting her younger brother," he put to his girl too.

She did nod to that one, though. "She can bring him."

Hank grunted and eyed her. Supposed she must've had some interaction with Avery. Supposed too she must have some memory about what ten-year-old boys were like. But she might be in for a surprise about exactly the amount of chaos she was going to have in her kitchen for Saturday afternoon Christmas cookie decorating if she was going to be managing two thirteen-year-olds, a ten-year-old and a one-year-old. Better have the vacuum, dust pan and cleaning supplies on the ready. And her patience tank filled to the brim.

"Sure you don't want me to bring some food to this thing?" was the only comment he put out there, though.

She shrugged. "We were just going to get some smoked fish," Erin said. "And Jay's making some sort of potato … something. I don't know. Something his grandfather did."

Hank just grunted. European thing. Catholic thing, he supposed. Cami's family loved their fish on Christmas Eve too. Italians and Christmas. Big hoopla in a different way than on this side of the Atlantic. And, couldn't say much about it. Not then. Not now.

Erin and Jay's house. They were hosting. Had a right to establish some of their own traditions. Halstead had the right to hold onto some from his upbringing too. Not the usual take-out affair that him and Camille had settled into with the business of work and kids at home all hyped up on Christmas Eve. Easier to just get meal time out of the way quick. Reality was too that him and Camille didn't do take-out too much for the kids growing up. So fucking expensive and just not as good as what they could manage in the kitchen on their own. So it was a nice treat for the rug rats on Christmas Eve. Though, always bickering on what menu they were going to order off of and what dishes they were going to share. Wouldn't be a family dinner, though, if Erin and Justin weren't arguing about something. Seemed to be pretty much what brothers and sisters were for. Didn't matter the age gap or the age they got too. Always at each other about something. Stubborn and stand-off-ish was in their genes.

But supposed the smokehouse was just as good as take-out. Similar vein. And didn't mind the smokehouse that Jay went too. Had brought the smoked trout over to share a few times. Had some catfish and shrimp on occasion too. E ate it right up. Usually took a good helping. Couldn't say that about a lot of things to do with food and Magoo.

So, like most things anymore when it came to his daughter and her personal life, bite his tongue when it came to comment or commentary.

"We're going to get some cheese and crackers too," she said, giving him a look, like she sensed he had some sort of problem that it wouldn't be Chinese, Thai, pizza or some Portuguese chicken and rice on the table. "Fruit. And then whatever cookies from the afternoon." He nodded again, but she still added defensively, "We found some simple recipes for cookies he can eat. We'll make them."

Hank just puckered and gave a shrug at that. "OK," he allowed.

Didn't much believe that any recipe that had anything to do with Magoo's diet would be simple. But he'd keep out of that too. E would likely be fine with getting to decorate and help Henry decorate. Anything either of those boys decorated would be entirely inedible to anyone anyway. Least anyone that didn't want to fall into a sprinkle-induced diabetic coma. And, as for sweet treats, his boy would just get held off until morning. Had rounded up a few things for his stocking that hopefully wouldn't do a number on his system. Thought, E would likely be excited and pleased. But didn't take much to excite him when it came to treats anymore. He got them so few and far between.

"You look like someone pissed in your coffee," she put to him more directly.

Hank made an unimpressed sound at that and rocked back in his chair, gazing at her. "Just overheard you inviting Burgess," he said.

It was her face that grew unimpressed at that. "You've got her scheduled as the on-call. Her family's all doing Christmas in the Bahamas … or something. I thought it'd be nice for her to have some place to drop by if she wanted," she pressed at him and then made a dismissive but angry gesture back at the door. "It's Kim. It's not going to be a big intrusion."

Voight just shrugged and shook his head. "Your house, your party—"

"It's not a party," Erin hissed at him.

He grunted and nodded. "You invite Trudy too?"

Knew she had. Because Trudy had already asked him about it. For more details on what this thing was. What she should bring. Who would be there. Hank didn't have many answers because last he'd heard it was him and E and Olive and H, and that Jay's brother and his latest work fling that were going to be at this thing. And that Erin had shot down his offers to bring anything. Or to pay for the take-out. Starting to sound like it was a lot more than the mellow family Christmas Eve he thought his daughter was hosting. Wasn't necessarily opposed to having the distraction of something a bit bigger and having some other people to talk to besides their strained family dynamics anymore. But wouldn't mind some heads up of his own from his girl. And so he could start priming Eth too. Or make an executive decision on if E was even in a position to handle it less than 24 hours after his cytoxan dose.

But Erin sighed at him. "Hank, it's Trudy. She's family. She lost her dad—"

He clenched his hands. "She's family," he agreed. "Just should know if she's coming, she's bringing McHolland."

It was a statement, but Erin still answered like it was a question. "If she waits to come by until after his shift," she contended.

Hank grunted again. But that wouldn't be hard. Shift changes at 51 seemed to be in the a.m. for that crew. Sure by afternoon or dinnertime, that Trudy and Randy would be stopping by together. Wouldn't be a solo drop-in. And, though Trudy was pretty good at reading a room and knowing when it was time to take leave, sure she'd be coming into it on the hopes the thing was a bit more than a drop-in to say Merry Christmas. Though, McHolland might prefer to let her go solo to that get-together. Or to keep it brief. Guy always looked like he was ready to crawl into a hole whenever he was in the room with cops. Or at least the ones Voight supervised. Maybe his comfort level was starting to increase a bit with the whole late-in-life marriage thing.

"What about O?" he put to her.

She made a more annoyed sound at him. "It's Al," she glared.

True enough. Pretty much a standing invite at Christmas the past few years. "Know if you're inviting Al," he said, though, "you're inviting Michelle and you're inviting Lexi. And you're inviting their boyfriends."

She made a frustrated sound. "Fine," she said dismissively.

"OK," he allowed again. "And know if you're inviting Burgess, should do good P.R. and invite the other on-call."

"Atwater?" she pressed, raising her eyebrow.

Shrugged. True, though. Poor form to invite the one and not the other. And, other thing she had to keep in mind was that invite Kevin – and he had little siblings that might get toted along depending on what the family's plans and arrangements for the day were. And invite Atwater to anything and it turned into an event. And at that point, by his count, it'd also be poor P.R. for her not to put an offer out to Adam. Seemed like he was going to be the only one without an invitation. Didn't need that kind of commentary going on. Knew the kid still had a bit of a complex about those things. Ended up feeling left out sometimes and just fucking awkward in the unit. Had brought some of that on himself with his life choices, but that was besides the point. Poor form to invite everyone and leave out one – unless you really were trying to send a message.

Then the reality was just the more people you invited, the more people who ended up showing up. You ended up with their spouses and significant others and kids tagging along. You ended up with that one person telling another person and expressing that it'd be no big deal if they came too – since they knew them and it was just one more person. But get a group of people with that attitude and all of a sudden you had a whole lot of unexpected guests. Word just got around and your house ended up as a drop-in center. It happened. Especially when they had people who were cops and docs and EMTS and Fire in their groupings. Made for a community. And made it hard to leave some out.

Him and Cami had used to do a thing on Christmas Eve. That'd stopped when they'd realized they'd turned into the holiday hotspot between work and family get-togethers and church for the entire block. But it'd taken them years to get the thing under control and to finally spool down and cease to exist. Thankfully it had fizzled out pretty naturally by the time Justin was on the scene and they started wanting their own family traditions and to take the little ankle-biter over to both their folks for the goo-gah-ing. Like Grandma and Grandpa get their spoiling factor in.

Still got comments about not hosting the fucking thing anymore, though. Some twenty-plus years later. Funny the things that turned into tradition quick and seemed hard for people to let go.

Just happened. Holidays. Cops. Free food. Tight knit community. Living in a European immigrant area. Could be hard to keep a hold of the reigns unless you wanted to be a real asshole. Knew Erin and Jay could both pull that off to a point. But wasn't sure they'd do it with people from the bullpen – on Christmas Eve.

Add in that a lot of the people in their unit had strained family situations and might be lacking in real plans or places to be that night. And then add in again that Erin and Halstead had opted out of some fucking house-warming bullshit that seemed pretty fucking mandatory anymore. Put in a splash of the holidays, and this was turning into an open-invitation party pretty quick. If she wasn't careful.

And she wasn't being careful. Because she lacked experience here. But she was going to be in for a bit of an eye opener by Saturday night, he thought.

But he just smacked at her. "Just think you should let me bring over a dish," he put to her. Tried to pick words that were borderline diplomatic. "Maybe you should be telling the rest of these jokers to be doing the same."

She huffed at him. "We'll have enough food. It's likely just going to be us and Jay's brother. Everyone else likely won't even show or will just drop in for a few minutes. It's Christmas. They'll have their own plans. I was just … being polite. You should try it."

He stared at her. And her latest jab. But only let his tongue sit in his cheek for a long moment before shrugging. Her funeral if this got out of control. She'd learn. Him and E always had the option of leaving. Not their house. They could escape the chaos if it got to be too much.

"OK," he allowed.

She huffed at him with some more annoyance at that and yanked the bag from between her legs, placing it heavily on his desk. He looked at it and smacked again, shifting his eyes back to her. She was making it clear he'd pissed her off. Was only trying to save her some headaches and frustration on Saturday, though. Smoked fish, potatoes and a cheese and cracker tray wasn't going to be enough to feed the number of people she was listing off – even if everyone did treat it as a drop-in.

"With Eth's stuff, I wasn't sure if we'd see you before Saturday—"

"Halstead not coming over after E's in the sack tonight to take a look at that thing?" he interrupted, casting his eyes out his door to the detective at his desk. Looked like he was working but also looked like he was trying to look like he was working. He was like that when it came time to do paperwork.

Erin sighed at him again. It was clear her frustration was rising at that point. "Hank, he said he doesn't need to look at it. He'll help get it set up on Sunday. Just wrap it." She glanced out the door. "He was supposed to talk to you."

Hank stared at the kid through the door. Contemplated getting up off his ass and going at him and barking at him about this change of plans that he hadn't been brought in on. But that was bringing home into work. Didn't need that production.

But also didn't much like the idea of just setting the thing up after it got unwrapped. Wanted a chance to see how it worked. Wanted to get through the menus and security settings and put in the parental codes and timers and passwords without E looking over his shoulder. Knew the kid likely had all sorts of work-arounds figured out anyway. Or would in two minutes flat. But still wanted to be slightly ahead of the game for at least those two minutes. Preparation. Piss poor police work if you didn't follow proper planning and protocol. Applied to parenting a whole lot too. Especially with kids and all their gadgets and technology. Changed too fucking quick. Still felt like it was easier with Erin and Justin as teens than it was going to be with E. Things had changed. Too much and too fast. Wasn't just E's illness that was robbing him of a childhood. It was fucking society anymore. Sometimes it was hard to tell if you were being a good parent or a piss-poor parent by protecting your kids from some of it. Delaying or denying their access to it. Another fucking tightrope you had to walk. And another fucking tightrope he hadn't really expected to have to figure out how to walk alone. Supposed they all ended up on their tightrope on their own, though. Wasn't a two-person act.

But just left it for the moment. Not worth arguing about. Especially at work. He'd take a look at the fucking box again and decide if he wanted to crack it open himself. So he shifted his eyes back to the bag that had unceremoniously put on his desk.

"What's all this?" he gestured at it.

She gave him a look. The one that he previously would've taken as her sass. That teenaged girl still in her. These days he took it more as a 'you're an idiot' look.

"Our contribution to stockings," she put bluntly.

He grunted at her, eyeing her for a long moment but then leaned forward and lifted the one handle on the bag, taking a peak in. Erin had been handing him stuff for Magoo and Justin's stockings since Camille was gone. But it'd usually been a couple smell denomination gift card. One year it was a fucking giant Reese Peanut Butter cup for both the boys. A fucking half-pound thing. Justin had been so committed to eating it in one sitting the fucking near adult kid had gone and made himself sick from the amount of sugar in the damn thing. Think she'd handed him an action figure the first couple years when he was still a little guy. E had mostly outgrown that, though. Beyond his dinosaurs and diecasts.

His distaste about the amount of stuff in there this year, though, must've played across his face. Because she added, "It's not just Ethan's. There's some things for Henry in there." She leaned forward and put her index finger on a little set of some cosmetic type stuff. Balm in tins, lip gloss sticks, lotion, cream, soap. Crunchy-granola, bee's wax, organic, no chemical stuff, no fragrance that wasn't from whatever herbs and honey and whatnot in it. He'd seen it around at one of the stores he had to go into to find anything that Magoo could ingest without his body going into a tailspin. "I picked that up for Olive. She has the balm in Henry's diaper bag." He grunted at that. That actually might've been more where he was recognizing the stuff from. "And I've seen her with the lip balm. I think she likes it. I wasn't sure if you were doing stockings for them this year?"

He just grunted and nodded, sitting back in his chair from his examination of the contents. "Can't get away without doing the stockings with Magoo this year," he put flatly. Pretty much was the most ingrained tradition they had in the house. Suspected Magoo might not let him drop it until he got the kid fucking married off and his wife could take over that job. Knowing E, though, poor woman likely wouldn't do it right and he'd still have to be involved in the damn things until he put the girl through a few training seasons. God help her when they had kids. "But don't know how Santa is going to fit all this in a stocking," he added, gesturing at the heaping bag. Didn't much matter that his brief perusal of the contents confirmed there were contributions for more than one person. There was still more than the usual gift cards, small toy and maybe a hunk of chocolate that she handed over. Though, even a brief look told him that the little boy still left in his little boy would be squealing with some glee when he pulled some of the items out of the stock. Maybe more so than his picks that year. But he'd been conservative with the stocking, considering what Santa was going to have wrapped up along next to it that year.

"Think you'll figure it out," Erin put back to him.

He rocked in his chair and gestured at the bag. "You trying to spoil him," he said.

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Based on what Santa's bringing, thought that'd already been accomplished."

He grunted and rocked forward in his chair, putting his elbows back on the desk. "Thought you and Halstead were onboard with that coming down the chimney for him this year."

She shrugged. "Didn't know it was open to discussion."

He smacked at her. "You two have been at me as much this fall about the damn thing as him," he rasped. "You saying now, you think it's a bad idea, I need to know. Because I'm not going to—"

"It's fine, Hank," she cut him off and sighed, crossing her arms in front of her for some protection. "He deserves the Xbox. And he deserves to be a little spoiled once and a while."

He smacked at her, tapping his hands against his desk, gazing at the bag. "You didn't have to do all this," he said.

Erin just gave him another shrug. "I always give you some stuff for stockings. It's not a big deal."

"Just hope you didn't go to town this much on whatever you're putting under the tree," he said, looking in the bag again.

"Jay helped with the stocking," she put flatly and gripped at herself. "He hasn't had people to buy for in a long time. Or a kid to buy for. He just got excited." Hank grunted at that and gave a little nod. "None of it's that expensive. Sales. The dollar store. It looks like more than it is."

He grunted again at that and sat back in his chair, reaching for his lower desk drawer and pulling it open. Pulled out his own two bags and dropped one on the desk. Tied up the top of the other one and set it next to it.

"That's yours," he gestured at the one he just tied. "Give it to Jay without nosing around." He nudged the open one toward her. She looked at it with some reluctance. "That's his."

She gazed at the bags for a long time. Too long. Before finally looking at him. "I thought we said we weren't going to do stockings this year."

He grunted. "You said," he allowed. "I listened to you say it."

Erin made a noise and looked away. But he saw the flicker in her eyes. Knew that he'd hit a bit of a raw spot.

"Erin," he called at her and she slowly looked back. Flicker had turned to some glassing. "Just like you said with Magoo, it's not a big deal. Some stuff just ended up in the cart. Sixteen years of habit doesn't just … come right out of you. You don't have to run out and get stuff for my sock. Never needed to do that in the first place. And I know you and Jay want to start some of your own things for Christmas. So, if this doesn't fit, doesn't even have to end up in the sock. OK? But E helped pick out some stuff for the both of you. He got real excited too. He really surprised me with some of his ideas and what he picked out. Shows a lot about the kind of relationship both you and Jay have established with him. So do what you want with the stuff. But open it. Look at it. Let Magoo know you liked it. I think you will. And you both deserve to get to enjoy some of the fruits of the time and effort you've put in with him."

Erin let out a long shaky breath but reached to take the two bags, dragging them closer to her.

"Put your stocking in there too, if you want to use it," he said. "And Jay's."

Her eyes looked up at him, confusion and then understanding flooding her face. And she pulled open the top of his bag and looked in. Grabbing the knitted yarn and letting it fall down while she stared at it.

Trudy's latest craft project that he'd twisted her arm into. Personalized sock just like the rest of them. Just like Trudy had done up on Cami's behalf the year before for Olive and Henry. Just like the two he'd have hanging empty on the mantel that year. Wouldn't get filled up. Though, knew that just like always, E would likely check to see if something had been left in them. Because it was another tradition. Like if his boy checked every year, some year they were going to magically be filled. That they'd be off the mantel and sitting in everyone's various spots around the front room waiting for his wife and his son just like everyone else. And that there'd somehow be a bigger miracle and Cami and J would come trotting down the stairs to unpack the things with everyone else. But that was a Christmas miracle that Santa couldn't deliver. Wasn't even one that guy behind the real reason for the season could manage.

"Jay will really appreciate this," Erin finally managed. But her voice cracked and she kept the sock held up so he couldn't see her face. See her eyes. And what they were doing.

Didn't need to, though. Knew. And it was enough to get him out of his seat. Walked around his desk, reaching and twisting the venetians shut over his door and window. Saw Jay glance with the clatter of them ticking against the door's glass. But left it. Erin could give him the briefing later. And the rest of the crew didn't need to see her upset. Weren't in work mode right now. They were in family business. Private.

He sat down on the chair next to hers. Would rather the couch. But knew she likely preferred to still have the arms of those hard office chairs dividing them. Still he put his hand over top of hers, gripping at it where she was gripping her bicep with one hand and trying to hold onto the stocking and wipe her eyes with the other. Was likely going to manage getting tears and snot on the thing. Didn't think Jay would mind too much though. He leaned over to his desk and pulled over the box of tissues he kept in there for when he did have to various notifications or talk to victim's families. Wasn't the first time his office saw waterworks.

"Didn't mean to upset you," he said, gripping at her hand more tightly, running his thumb over the top of her knuckles. She was letting him for the moment.

And for the moment she let her hand come down. She was a real mess. Already.

"It's just been … such a fucking … awful year," she managed, shaking her head.

"I know," he graveled. Could feel the own knot in his throat. But didn't much want to get into waterworks. Knew E would sense it a mile a way and had to go get him soon. Not to mention, didn't really want to walk through the bullpen on the way out looking like a cry baby again. Losing his grip.

"Olive and I have been talking," Erin struggled. "And Jay. We … I … think you and Ethan should … sleepover on Saturday. So … we can all do Christmas … the stockings … the day … together. Just … be together."

Hank gave her a thin smile and a little nod, but felt his eyes watering more too. "Would really like that," he really rasped that time. "Be a real good Christmas present."

His family together. It was all he wished for every year. Not just on Christmas. Day in. Day out. As futile as that plea was becoming. But he'd take it for the one day that was being offered. It was all he wanted.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews and feedback are appreciated.**


	41. Christmas Eve Mourning

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Hank looked over the top of the page of his paper – from his reading and his coffee drinking – to gaze at his son, slumped at the table and still staring at his place of eggs that had gone untouched.

"Magoo," he called at the kid and E gave him a timid glance. "Eat your breakfast."

"I think I'll puke if I eat," he muttered. "It's gross to puke eggs."

Hank let out a slow breath, weighing that statement. Not great when you're kid has created a hierarchy of things that were puke-able. Knew it wasn't just that with Magoo. Kid also had a list of things that gave him the shits. A list of things that distended his stomach with gas to the point he looked like a famished kid in a Third World country. A list of things that spurred or aggravated his mouth sores – which were always at their worse after Medrol. Then there was just the giant fucking list of crap he shouldn't be eating if they wanted to try to keep his inflammation down and give his immune system a bit of a break so it didn't start attacking fucking systems it shouldn't be attacking – like his whole nervous system.

"I make you a smoothie, you drink it down?" he offered.

The kid gave him a pucker. Clearly a little tempted but then he squinted at him. "Are you going to put that gross protein powder in it?"

Hank smacked at him. He'd spent the better part of a year-and-a-half sneaking that crap into food because getting E to ingest it on his own was just a battle and a headache he didn't fucking have time for. Worked better if he just dumped it into crap unannounced. Sometimes Magoo noticed. Sometimes he didn't. But a shake was a pretty obvious place to put the stuff. Kid knew that.

"Ethan," he put to him more sternly, "you know you've got to get extra protein into you after the chemo. Will help your body bounce back better."

"Then no …," his boy muttered and went back to staring at his long cold plate.

Had been sitting there a good thirty minutes waiting for his kid to eat. Didn't really plan on either of them leaving the table until he put something into his belly.

"You want to go over to Erin's this afternoon and help with those cookies and the decorating, you've got to eat," Hank graveled.

E sighed heavily at him but did pick up his fork. Just pushed the food around on his plate a bit, though.

"Are you going to make French Toast on Christmas?" Magoo asked.

Hank really pulled his paper down at that. Stopping his perusal of the city section. Folding it up. Clearly they were in for a longer talk that involved more wrangling than trying to get his boy to eat and measuring exactly where he was at after his maintenance dose. His conclusion so far was that though he'd seen his boy worse, he definitely had a bit of a rundown and sulky kid that morning. But that happened when E wasn't feeling too hot. Didn't much blame him.

"One," Hank said as he set his paper on the table and found his boy's eyes, "you aren't supposed to be eating yeast. Wouldn't be making French Toast this year even if we were here. Two, we've talked about this. This year has been one of a lot of changes and a lot of adjustments, part of that is going to be recognizing you ain't the little guy in the family anymore and that we're all going to start making some new traditions and routines around the holidays."

E gave him a half glance. Had had the discussion enough in his push to maintain every tradition imaginable. His push to dredge up ones that Hank had just about forgotten was something they'd ever even done as a family. Sometimes he was pretty damn sure that his kid was pulling them out of some movie or some TV show or something some kid had said at school, because he didn't know where he was finding these ideas in his disjointed memories. But also just knew that the whole tradition thing this year was E trying to force them all together. Trying to find some semblance of normal in the mess they were living in. And maybe he'd accomplished a bit of that. He was going to get part of his wish. But you can't always get what you want – not exactly the way you wanted it. Life just wasn't like that. It wasn't fair. Needed to be happy that they were at least getting partway there. Hank sure was.

"Then what are we going to eat?" he asked.

Hank gave him a little shrug. "Have to ask your sister or Jay," he put back to his boy. "They're house. They're hosting Christmas for the family this year."

E scrapped his fork along the plate at that. Kid had been pretty OK with the concept of spending part of Christmas Eve day at Erin's. Had even seemed not to off of the idea of staying over at her place until it was about time for him to hit the sack and for Santa to come. But when it'd been presented to him that they'd be sleeping over at Erin's – that they'd do Christmas morning – the whole day, breakfast, lunch and dinner, stockings and presents – at her place, his boy had put on the brakes. He wasn't taking to that idea as well as Hank would've hoped. Wasn't fitting into his little tradition paradox quite too neatly.

"But I like your French Toast," E lamented. Very near a whine.

"And, I'm going to repeat myself," he stared at his son and gave a smack and a nod, confirming for him how much he hated repeating himself – even though it was something he needed to do near daily with E. Something he had to do more since J died. They just had the same conversations over and over. Suspected some of them they'd be having for the rest of his life. "Saying again, you and yeast don't do well. Don't matter where you are Christmas morning, you aren't getting French Toast this year, Magoo."

He huffed and scratched his fork on his plate again. Like fucking nails on a chalkboard.

Hank reached and pulled the plate away from him, giving him a stern look. Magoo would still be made to eat it. But wasn't going to destroy the plate in the process – or their ears.

"You like Jay's pancakes," he offered - firmly. "Think there's a reasonable chance that's what you'll be eating tomorrow morning. If you're eating anything. Because right now, sure looks like you don't feel up to any Christmas festivities. Looks like what you need is to go back up to bed."

"I don't," E glared at him. Might be a teenager but his glares still had too much little boy in them to be anything near intimidating. Some teen-aged kid – especially one of his own – didn't do much to intimidate Hank anyway. All just bullshit and attitude. Nice show to hide how scared or how much they were hurting. Nothing to do with him or anything he was saying part of the time. Acceptance – but non-acceptance – of the truth. That was the hard truth.

So Voight shrugged at his boy. "Shouldn't be excepting to be getting any treats or socializing in as the day goes on, tomorrow. Not if you don't put some real food in you, Magoo. We aren't going to do a repeat of last year."

The glare intensified. But it was short-lived. Flickered out. Knew Santa was watching – right there across the table. Santa still had a whole lot of shopping hours to make returns. Or to just not come down the fucking chimney that year. Knew the kid wouldn't test that. Never did. No matter how old they got. Didn't want to risk it. And the larger reality was the kid was just too worn down from the day before to put on too much of a show.

Instead E stretched his arm across the table to the plate and shakily retrieved a scoop of eggs, bringing it to his mouth. Hank pushed the plate along the table back with him – trying to catch the surplus that was falling off the fork and hoping that the first mouthful would lead to another. That he'd eat the two eggs he'd scrambled for him. Get something down the hatch because beyond water, E had refused to look at anything the night before.

"Why aren't you coming this afternoon?" Ethan finally muttered, poking at his food and putting minuscule bits into his mouth. Doing his best not to look at him. A bit of a sulk.

"Christmas doesn't just happen on its own," Hank smacked at him. "Got some things to get wrapped up."

E cast him a look. Realized it was likely word choice. Wrapped up. Kind likely thought he meant wrapping gifts. Which he supposed he did. But a bit more than that.

Doing Christmas at Erin's place had just got dropped on him the other day too. Didn't mind. Actually was a little happy about it. He'd managed being in the house after he lost Camille. Liked it in a way. Or at least needed it. Part of the grieving process. Staying close to her – for himself and for the kids. Let them be as near their mom as they could. Not take that way from them too.

But it'd been harder since J had been gone. Place felt more full of ghosts than before. And it made him do a lot more second-guessing long-ago decisions than Camille's death had. Been a real measure of himself as a father. Of the kind of too short of life his son had had. Place was just too full of memories now. And even though there were happy pasts in there, it really just brought about this kind of sadness. It was hard to be there some days. Some nights.

Knew Christmas Eve and Christmas Day would be high on the list of days and nights that would be hard to be in that house. In that front room and that kitchen. That it'd be stirring up a whole lot of memories. He didn't mind at least forcing himself away from some of that by a change of venues.

But supposed Erin didn't really know – or fully appreciate – how much work went into getting Christmas off the ground in those final couple days. Especially when you were a parent. When you still had a kid at home who would be getting some gifts under the tree. When you still had family traditions that you'd now become the guardian of and had to make sure came to life each year. When you had last minute errands to do and chores to get done around the house so the place actually looked like Christmas. When you had groceries to pick up and meal prep to get in order so you could actually be by the tree with your family on Christmas morn' and not spending the day with a turkey in the oven.

Was turning into a little bit of extra work that year too. Because after a bit of back-and-forth, Erin had relented in accepting that him and E being over at her place Christmas Eve and through the morning, meant that if he was going to be the one doing Christmas dinner, it would be easiest to do it at her place too. Meant they'd be there all day. She had looked a little unsure about that but had relented. Figured the relent went back to her (or Olive) not wanting to come over to the house of Christmas Past for the meal.

He was still fine with taking on the meal, but with working in her kitchen (which she still hadn't given him much of a chance to be in the house to have any clue what kind of set-up she really had in there), he knew he needed do some extra prep ahead of time. Just get everything done that day so he could take everything over and just get it put in the oven at the right time. Twist on the burners. So had to deal with the potatoes and the stuffing and sewing up the bird and whatnot that day. Just get it out of the way.

But E was right. Even though he tended to have his gifts bought well ahead of time, he tended leave the wrapping until the last minute. Just wasn't much for making things look all pretty. He'd actually be more than happy to just throw the stuff in some bags. Likely would even forego the fucking tissue paper. But knew the kids – even his grown ones – still got a kick out of getting to unwrap things. Knew too that Cami always gave him a lecture when he expressed his preference that gift bags were more than enough when the kids hit their teens.

Should've expected it. He'd also expressed to her that he didn't think Santa's workshop took the time to wrap their fucking presents. But she was having none of that. Had reached the compromise with Santa's elves not having fucking time to wrap every fucking trinket in the stockings. Who the hell needed shampoo, underwear and socks wrapped up? He'd won out there but not with what Santa brought. Supposed over the years, that was likely best that his wife's opinion on that matter took precedent. Reality was that Santa's present usually made a bigger splash than the practical clothes or sports equipment or educational what-not that Mom and Dad had under the tree. Lot easier to draw out the excitement and really get to watch it when the kids had a wrapped gift from Santa to unwrap rather than it just sitting there on the floor ready for play.

Likely be in another negotiation with a woman who's opinion he'd defer to that night too. Still would do his thing with E. Still had some stocking stuff to contribute to the Santa effort for Henry. Had picked up something that Olive could add to his grandson's Santa haul too. But how she wanted to lay everything out – wrapped, unwrapped – leave that up to her. Magoo might have to adjust to some more new traditions when it came to sharing Christmas morning with his little nephew. Old enough to understand. But maybe not in the best emotional spot in his coping and his grieving to entirely be able to accept it all.

He'd have to work with both E and Olive through it. Find some sort of compromise again. But wouldn't push anything with Olive too much. Her kid. She had a right to decide how she wanted to do Christmas with him. What she wanted it to look like. How she wanted to play it. What kind of traditions she wanted to start. Memories she wanted H to get to have. Ideas she wanted him to develop about it all. Stories she wanted him to hear. And some of that all might change as the years went by anyway. How you did Christmas with a toddler who wasn't old enough to grasp any of it yet was going to be pretty different from how you played it by the time your kid was three or four or five and diving right into all the magic and excitement of the big day. Kept changing too. As they hit school and then as they decided they didn't believe anymore. As they advanced into their pre-teens and teens. Even when you had your young adults on your hands who still wanted some of the family time and traditions and a present with their name on it – but didn't want to be prattled to like a little kid.

Another one of these tightrope holidays. Another thing Camille would've done better than he did. But he'd still made sure his youngest got a Christmas every year. Still made sure his older two had a place to come home to. That a filled stocking was there. That something they wanted – or more likely needed – was under the tree. Did the best he could manage. Even if he didn't have a woman's or mother's touch – and it sure as hell seemed like Christmas was something that was meant to be managed by the matriach in the house. They just knew how to handle that shit better.

Supposed, though, that in some ways Erin was the matriarch in the family now. In some ways. Likely good that she was showing interest in wanting to take on the holidays. Take on a bigger role for them. Knew that that wasn't exactly her logic in wanting to play host. But also knew that maybe her opinion on all that might change if this year went well. That it might change even more if … when … her and Halstead had a kid or two of their own. That getting Christmas Day with a little baby – toddler – might get some wheels turning on all of that.

So no cookie baking and decorating for him that afternoon. Fine with him. That was on the list of traditions and obligations that he just conceded to in his efforts to be a decent enough dad who was giving his kid some memories at the holidays. Because E still seemed to like it. To look forward to it. Even now – when he couldn't eat any of the shit. But it was something that Camille would've been handling if she was still around and he was more than happy to let Erin take on baking day with Magoo. Have att'er.

He'd focus on getting his running around done. Get the food prep done. Get the stockings stuffed. The gifts wrapped.

Knew Cami was likely rolling over in her grave about him giving in on this whole Xbox thing. Thought she likely never would've agreed to it. But maybe if she was still around, he never would've agreed to it either. But the reality was she wasn't there and E was a different kid because of it. Reality was that raising a child as a single parent was different when you had your spouse to tag-team them with. And E was just a really different kid, growing up in a real different time and a real different way, than Erin or J had when they were teens.

So hoped she'd be standing with him on his decision to buy the damn thing for his boy too. Taken a bit to come to the decision to make the leap. Never really spent that kind of dough on the kids at Christmas. Ever. But another reality was when J was growing up, they dropped a whole lot of cash getting him geared up at the start of football and hockey season every year. That shit wasn't cheap either and as long as J was showing interest in the sport, getting to practice and participating, and not asking for anything too fancy above and beyond his basic essentials to participate in the sport –him and Cami had paid for near all of it. Or at least subsidized it big time.

Wasn't like E's ball was cheap either – but it was sure as fuck cheaper than football or hockey. And the cost of E's other interests and activities just paled in comparison to sports equipment. And, his youngest boy was a good saver. His pocket money didn't burn a hole in his pocket. Spent some of it on stupid shit – but that was to be expected with a kid that age. Wasn't like he was constantly coming home with something new he'd dropped his allowance on, though. Wasn't like he was dropping the cash on junk food – candy and pizza and chips – either. Most weeks E didn't even claim his pocket money out of his jar – just left it in there unless he knew he had something in the books that day or week. And the few times he'd dipped into his savings jar had made Hank proud. Had been E who'd bought his catcher gear and his catcher mitt. E who'd helped pay for the ziplining tour he wanted to do so badly. Wasn't frivolous crap. Things he'd use. Once-in-a-lifetime kinda opportunities. Was showing some clear indications that he was getting some understanding of how the whole money and budget thing worked.

So the kid had been wanting a fucking gaming system for years. Had shown a reasonable amount of responsibility with the apparently ancient piece of technology that Halstead had loaned him. Had some of their fights and disagreements and abuse of priviledges. Him pushing limits and buttons. But that was just another thing to be expected with a kid that age.

That all had weighed into his decision to make the jump. To put down the wad of cash for the fucking thing. But the real deal-breaker had been talking to both his physical therapist and cognitive therapist at the Rehab Institute. Them talking to him – or at him – about the rehabilitative benefits of these fucking games for traumatic brain injury and for kids needing to work on their physical rehabilitation too. Balance and dexterity. Concentration and problem solving. Memory and focus and organizing and processing information. Give him a list of some games or apps or whatever. Then had his boy's tutor and EA give a similar spiel. List of some similar games that might be suited to E – and some of his skills and interests and appetitive.

Knew that E was more looking at it was a device to go and race cars and blow shit up or some other Lego building alternative – and just waiting for him to turn his back or loosen the reigns so he could get all these shooter war games on the fucking hard drive. But Hank had decided that the thing could be a "toy" and practical. That he'd find the fucking happy medium there and reach the compromise – even if E didn't like it. There'd be a lot of rules – about games and play-time and what he could buy for the damn thing and who was paying. But they'd work it out.

Figured in a lot of ways – Erin was right – E had earned it. Even if he wouldn't be the one emptying out his savings for it – he'd more than earned it. And the kid had been through a hell of a year … few years … a lifetime. Didn't think anymore that videogames were going to be the thing that made or breaked him as a child and a decent functional human-being. Maybe in E's case, it'd make him fucking more functional. Or maybe it'd at least give him something to fit in just a little bit. Get some of the kids at Iggy's to lay off a bit. Maybe get Ev and Evan to hang out over at the house a bit more, at least. Seemed like the prefer destination was Evan's – for the moment.

"But Erin isn't going to make everyone's favorites," E said quietly, his look on him intensifying a bit. "She just wants to do sugar cookies and gingerbread."

Hank shifted his head to catch is boy's eyes. "Because those are the ones you can decorate," he told him directly. "That's the object of this exercise."

"But what about everyone's favorites," he protested, his tired eyes glinting a bit. "What about Mom and J's favorites."

Hank let his tongue sit in the side of his cheek for a long moment but then nodded a bit and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over himself as he examined his boy.

"E, some of the ones on the favorite list are a bit of a pain in the ass to make. Complicated or messy or a bit of both," he said.

"But they're everyone's favorites!" the kid lamented.

"Your sister is hosting," Hank tried again. "She feels that cookies you kids can decorate are what makes the most sense. What will be the most fun for you guys."

"But no one even likes the decorated ones," E protested a bit harsher. He was sounding like a pretty tired, hurting little boy.

"That's likely because you dump half the sprinkle bottle on the things," Hank smacked on him. "Dial it back a few notches. Then the cookies will be edible."

E huffed at him and went back to scrapping his fork on his plate. Hank again leaned forward and pulled it away from him. His boy's coming up to his as he did.

"Why can't we just do Christmas here?" he asked weakly.

"Ethan-," he started warningly but his boy cut him off.

"How can we have Christmas as a family if we don't do it here?" he spat out. "How will Mom and Justin be with us?"

Hank sighed a bit and sat up straighter. "C'mon here," he ordered. E eyed him nervously. "Not in trouble," he assured. "Just come around here."

E's eyes didn't look like he believed him, but he slowly pushed himself up and came around the table, as Hank adjusted himself in his chair to really look at him. He gave him a thin smile. But his boy just frown. So he reached and scrubbed at his hair a couple times and then held him tight and steady just about his elbows.

"You aren't a little boy," Hank put to him. "You know that your mom and your brother aren't some ghosts living in this house. They'll be with us here," he said, reaching and pawing at the side of his boy's head again, "and here," he added, moving his hand and poking his finger against his boy's chest. "Just like always."

"What about when you're head and heart are broken?" Ethan put back to him flatly.

Hank stared at him with a smack, but then pulled his kid to him and held on to him. Held him tightly even though E stayed as stiff as a board in his grip, until he pushed him back and gazed at him again. Knew some emotion was starting to fill his own eyes. But it was staring right back at him in E's too.

"E, I know things are hard. Know that tonight and tomorrow – it's going to be a little hard. More than a little. And I know you aren't feeling 100 per cent. But, you wanted to have Christmas Day with your sister and with Henry, right?" His boy gave a barely distinguishable nod. So Hank grunted some acknowledgement. "So, that's what we're doing. We're going to be together. Not going to be perfect. Not going to be the way we've always done it. But this is a year of changes, OK? One of them is thing. Another is that as the youngest of my kids – you're the one responsible for keeping the magic alive for Henry. OK? Your brother and Erin did that for you. And, now you're going to do it for H. Going to mean new traditions and new responsibilities. But it's one that I know both your mom and your brother will really appreciate you doing for your nephew. And you doing that – for them – that's how they're going to be there with us. No matter how broken any of our heads or hearts are these days. OK?"

E just stared at him. Real long. Those eyes getting glassier. Glassier than Hank wanted them to. Because there was nothing that set off his own tear ducts like watching one of his kids hurt. Best way to make him feel like he was failing as a parent and as a man. But finally his boy gave a little nod and that time it was E who collapsed against him – this time voluntarily – and gave him a real hug.

Thought they'd be needing a lot of them to get through the next 48 hours. But knew they could do it. Could manage. They'd gotten this far.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Hope you enjoyed your holidays. Your comments, feedback and reviews are appreciated. Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and belated Merry Christmas.**

 **The chapter entitled HOCKEY SKATES as been reordered, if you hadn't yet had a chance to read and/or review it.**


	42. Sock It to Ya

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

"About ready to go, Magoo?" he asked before he got to his kid's door. From all the racket the kid had been making, you'd think it was assembling a meth lab upstairs, not tossing a few things in a bag like he'd been instructed. But as soon as he got to the door way, became clear that E wasn't anywhere near ready to go and hadn't been doing as instructed either.

He smacked at his kid, gazing at his son sprawled out on the floor with wrapping paper and presents spread out even farther. A fucking mess.

"Bear helping you with that wrapping?" he put to the kid.

Looked like the dog was mostly just trying to stay out the bed. Flopped out on the bed, head on paws gazing at the disaster in front of him. But still looked like the dog might've done a better job at the wrapping. Or that he'd helped the process – chewed the paper apart for Eth.

E glanced up at him – completely undistributed by his presence or his lack of timely fashion in getting them both out the door. Getting him dropped off at his sister's so he could get to his errands and pick-ups and own wrapping so he could go over and enjoy some of Christmas Eve too.

"No," he muttered, like the dog question hadn't been dripping with distaste and sarcasm – if not utterly rhetorically. "But he won't leave so I can wrap his present either," he added and glared at the mutt. "Bear! Go!" E demanded.

The dog just lifted his head and looked at him all cock-eyed. A real 'what's your problem' stance and then flopped his chin right back down into place, getting an annoyed huff out of Magoo.

"Bear!" Hank barked on his son's behalf, snapping and pointing at the floor. "Off the bed."

Dog listened to him. Sulking down off the mattress – which really had been his only goal. Didn't like the dog in the bed, though E loved the thing up there with him. Even though the damn mutt very near took up more of the fucking twin mattress than his boy anymore.

Bear started to sulk over to the actual fucking dog bed – thank god just a pile of old blankets for now and not some orthopedic throne that would cost you a C-note and then some at some of these fucking pet stores that also sold you bejeweled collars and sweaters and fucking winter coats and boots for dogs. But apparently the mutt just moving to the end of the bed wasn't good enough for Magoo.

"Bear!" his son barked again. "Leave! Or you aren't going to get your present!"

Hank rolled his eyes at that. As much as he rolled his eyes. Rolled them on the inside. Because this was what his life had come to. They had a fucking Christmas present fo the dog and his son had bought a fucking stocking for the mutt at the dollar store that he'd been expected to fill. And somehow he'd found it in himself to buy some crap to put in the damn thing. Not fucking orthopedic bed or doggie hoodie but still. There'd been treats and a bone specifically bought and ear-marked as the dog's fucking Christmas stocking stuffers. Magoo had spent his own fucking money buying the animal a toy that he thought the damn thing needed to be wrapped up.

And why? Because apparently this was the dog's first Christmas. Had argued it wasn't. Only to be informed that Bear's first Christmas in a snow pile hadn't been very nice and he should get a nice first Christmas with his family – just like "everyone else". Could've argued that the mutt wasn't a fucking person but hadn't bothered. Let the kid spend his money the way he wanted. And sometimes that meant spending it on stupid fucking things. But he could also think of stupider things E could be dropping cash on than a fucking chew toy and Frisbee.

Apparently he wasn't the only one thinking he needed to buy for the damn dog, either because there'd been a fucking Nerf tennis ball launcher in the bag of crap that Erin gave him. Had made some comment about giving E a tennis ball launcher maybe not being the brightest idea. Could think of a lot of kids that Ethan likely wouldn't mind launching sting-worthy projectiles at. But he'd been informed it was for the fucking dog.

Fucking ridiculous.

More ridiculous, he'd also been informed that Bear's "Welcome Home Day" was soon. Pretty sure that was a random collection of words strung together to sound like something more than it was. But it'd also been argued that they got ice cream on Erin's "Welcome Home Day". Didn't matter how many times he said he was unaware of Erin having a "Welcome Home Day", just had a date pointed at on the calendar every time and told: "That's when Erin came home. And we get ice cream. Every year. Or dessert."

And what the fuck was he supposed to say to that either? Because, truth was his boy was pointing at the date that his girl had, in fact, come home to them. Truth was that maybe they did have something a little extra after dinner that day every year. Truth was that maybe he made sure to have Erin around for dinner that day every year – or to take her out for a bite and spend a bit of time with her. Truth was that in pulling her out of Bunny's, meeting point had been a diner, in giving her the last chance to second-guess the arrangement and for him to get her ass into the car and out of that shitty situation she'd grown up in. And there was the promise of dessert on the other end of the trip. That there was ice cream in the freezer at his place. Toppings.

A bribe. A lure. Whatever you wanted to call it. But it was just a fucking sundae given to a thirteen year old kid scared shitless about taking that step. Making that leap of faith that he'd take care of her – and the situation – not hurt her. Sometimes things like that needed some sweetening up. Ice cream worked better than anything in his persona could manage.

But Hank did know, even if there might be some extra dessert on the table each year on the particular night, they sure as hell had never publicized it as an anniversary. Had never given it some ridiculous name. And he'd be damned if he was going to celebrate "Welcome Home Day" for a dog. Or buy doggie ice cream to do it either.

Wasn't going to get into that in that moment, though. Instead just grabbed the dog's collar and guided him out of the room. Mutt just stood there – staring back in. Clearly wanted to cross the threshold but was afraid he'd get yelled at again.

Waited too long.

"BEAR! LEAVE!" Ethan barked at the poor dog again.

The mutt's sad eyes gazed at the kid. His best buddy. But Hank again played the bad guy – snapping at the dog and pointing out the hallway and back down the steps.

"Downstairs," he graveled.

The dog gazed up at him and sulked a few more steps over to the stairs – tail between his legs. But he just sat his ass down at the top of the stairs. Fair enough. At least he was out of view of Magoo and this top secret present that needed to be wrapped.

But he crossed his arms and watched E's shaky efforts at wrapping the gifts he had around him. Paper rattling all over the place and scissors going zigzagged with his tremor. Looked like a gnawed on mess. Didn't know how he expected to fold or tape any of it with the way he was going. Could see the end product of his one effort. Might as well have just ripped the paper off the roll, balled it up around the gift and wrapped the tape in circles around it.

"Don't you think you should've done that before now?" Hank smacked at him.

Reality was he'd offered more than once to help with the wrapping. Magoo had been insistent about wanting to handle it on his own. Seemed to think that him wrapping it made it more of a gift from him. Getting to unwrap the messes he was making in that moment was definitely going to be a special experience. Likely going to be so much tape on them that they'd need the utility knife handy to slit through the stuff and wad of the layers of crumbled paper.

"We were busy this week," Ethan muttered at him, eyes fixed on his shaky efforts.

"You've had most of this stuff for weeks, Magoo," Hank put back to him, gesturing at the small pile of items around his boy. Looked like only two things had gotten wrapped so far. Hard to believe that was all he'd gotten done given all the bumping and thumping around that had been going on above his head for the better part of an hour.

His kid only grunted some vague acknowledgement at him. Didn't even put up an argument. Nothing to argue about. Both knew he could've done this weeks ago. Hank wasn't one to talk too much. Could've done most of his wrapping about two months ago but had put it off. Thing was he wasn't supposed to have his ass somewhere in thirty minutes. Only he was – dropping his son's ass off at his sister's.

Instead, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket, giving the bed a glance again. Kid had been supposed to be putting a few things in a bag. Clearly hadn't gotten very far. His backpack was on the bed and his sleeping bag was in a giant ball. Assumed that meant E wanted to take it with them. Either that – or he hadn't bothered to make his bed in the morning. Good possibility of that too with how the kid was dragging ass. Maybe he really should be just directing his ass back toward the bed and getting him to sleep off some more of the chemo so they might be able to manage a decent Christmas morning.

Would leave that up to Erin, though. Started keying a message in. Giving his girl some more fair warning about what she was getting herself into. _Going to be late. Your brother is wrapping presents_ , he put.

"Are you texting about me?" he heard hissed at him and glanced up at his boy.

"Letting your sister know we're going to have you over there later than expected," he smacked at him. But he started texting another message into the phone as an _OK_ and popped up from Erin, followed by a _How's he doing?_. That was an easy enough answer: _Sick, tired, hurting, grouchy. Going to be wanting little boy attention but giving you teen-aged attitude._

"Now what are you saying?" Ethan demanded.

"That you're not feeling so hot after chemo," Hank rasped, not gracing with him with eye contact.

Just kept looking at the screen. It took a long minute before the ellipsis appeared. Finally just got another _OK_ and then a _Should someone call Eva and tell her he's not up to company?_

Made a grunting sound at that and could feel his boy's eyes land on him again but just keyed back, _She was over last night. Knows he's off. Not supposed to show until the afternoon. Try to feed him and get him to lay down for a bit when I drop him off. Won't for me here._ All he got to that was another near immediate _OK_.

Was enough, though. Looked at his boy and moved over to where he was sitting on the floor, lowering himself down too. Wasn't much for sitting on the floor. Not sure he ever was but definitely was over it. Seemed like with H back in town and him getting him a couple hours a week lately, he was getting reacquainted with the whole criss-cross-apple-sauce thing. Wasn't sure his back, ass or knees were too pleased about that.

His son just glanced up at him and then went back to his work. Hank reached and took the scissors from him. E's eyes coming up and really glaring at him at that point.

"Me helping isn't optional anymore," he nodded at him. "We've got to get this show on the road." He reached and tossed the roll of tape at him. "Can do tape duty."

Ethan squinted at him but didn't protest any. It was pretty apparent that he was struggling. Pretty apparent that he was feeling like crap too. Really should just put him to bed and call it a day but that would likely cause a teen-aged tantrum if not send him into another emotional meltdown about Justin and Christmas and traditions. Hank just wasn't in a place to deal with that either. So get this done. Get E over to his sister's. Keep his fingers crossed that her or Halstead would convince him to go lay down until Eva and Avery showed up. And then after the rest of the party started hopping make a judgment call on how his boy was doing. Was starting to think he might be pulling the plug – especially if E wasn't going to take some flat on his back and eyes shut breaks during the day – on the whole thing. That they'd be back over there for the night. Truck back over in the morning.

That'd dim some of the magic for E. Might miss Henry's reaction to Santa having come calling – not that they really understood any of it at that age. But still. Something to look forward to and hold on to. Reality was, though, Christmas Eve and Christmas Morn' wouldn't be much fun if Magoo wasn't able to have much fun. So better to get him into a situation he was rested enough to take at least some enjoyment out of the next 36 hours.

Hank gestured at the one present that was real nicely wrapped, sitting next to the boy, as he started working on measuring out the paper appropriately and getting it cut for Erin's gift from her brother.

"Why's that one done up so nice?" he commented.

E shrugged as he watched his cutting. "It's yours. Jay helped me wrap it the night we got it."

Hank gave a little grunt at that. Interesting that it'd been Halstead that had accompanied him on that shopping trip and done that wrapping. Not sure what that said, but suspected it said a lot about how much Erin hadn't wanted to be involved with even helping her brother in picking out a gift for him.

"That's Olive's," E said of the mess sitting next to it.

Hank gave it a little glance. "Might want to think about seeing if you can get that paper off and I'll help you rewrap it."

E gave him a small scowl. "It's not that bad."

Hank just grunted again. Said his piece. Would leave it up to his boy to decide now.

"Least go grab the tags," he put to his son. "Not going to remember who's whose and what's what."

"Yes, I will," E contended again with some tone.

Hank just cast him a glance and shifted his eyes to the two gifts. Least he'd definitely remember which one was Olive's. Fucking hard to miss that ball of paper and tape. Do his best to try to remember the rest. Should be easy enough given the shape of some of the packages.

His eyes moved to the bed again. "You finished packing?" he asked instead.

"I don't think I need to pack anything," E said.

Hank gave him a sterner look. "Pajamas, clean socks, clean skivvies," he pressed at him.

"Dad," E sighed at him, "you always give me new sleep pants on Christmas Eve. And there will be socks and underwear in my stocking."

Hank smacked at him. Wasn't going to comment on any of that. Ruin the "surprise" of the usual year after year "traditions" they'd settled into.

"Want you to put those things in a bag," he put back to his son instead. "And want you to throw in a change or two of clothes in case you've got any puke issues, bathroom issues or a night sweat." He gave his son a quick once-over too. "And want you to throw in that flannel we got you for your Christmas parties."

E groaned more heavily. "Dad," he gave that teenaged condescending tone, that made him decide that his boy was really only feeling so badly. "It's supposed to be like the warmest Christmas ever and rain. I don't need flannel."

That statement in itself was fucking ridiculous. His boy was cold when it was the middle of summer. Forty-two degrees sure didn't equate as tropical by any means.

But all he provided as, "Olive is likely going to have Henry done up either tonight or tomorrow. Want some pictures of the two of you where you aren't looking like a hobo."

"Then maybe I shouldn't wear flannel," E put back to him.

Hank just cast him eyes and gave him an another unimpressed smack. Kid didn't put it in the bag himself, he'd be pulling it out of his closet on his own accord. And likely a couple extra layers too – no matter what the weather was supposed to be outside over the next couple days. Though, E was right. He would have new some clothes waiting for him under the tree. And was living all of a mile from his daughter anymore if E did decide to puke all over himself or decided he was freezing.

So wasn't going to bother engaging in any sort of discussion about it with the kid. Reality was that it'd be done his way – no Magoo's. That's just the way things worked.

"Why's your bed look like it belongs to the dog?" Hank gestured at the sleeping bag and then tapped his index against where he wanted his son to put down some tape. Get this fucking wrapping done.

"I thought I should take it," he muttered, as he struggled to even tear a piece of the sticky stuff off. Wasn't sure him helping was going to speed this up much unless he completely took over. Tried to refrain from doing that. "Since I don't get to sleep in my room there."

Hank gave him a smack, casting him a look. But the kid kept his eyes focused on the tape. Working along the seam real slow. "Don't have a room there that belongs to you, as far as I know," Hank graveled.

E shrugged. "It's the room I always sleep in. But Erin says Olive and Henry get to sleep in it tonight."

"Makes sense," Hank pressed at him. "Needs room with the baby."

"Yea, but where do we sleep then?" E grumbled. "The floor?"

"Got couches," Hank put to him. E gave him an unimpressed look. Almost surprised about that seeing as the couch in their front room would've meant that he got to have his nose into everything before anyone else – if not while it was being all set up. Though that would definitely eliminate any of the remaining magic of the day for the kid. Other option was the living room on the lower level, though. Would mean getting to sleep in front of Halstead's big-ass TV – unsupervised. Figured Magoo would be all over that. Ended up falling asleep in front of the TV a whole lot at home, though most of the time Hank woke him and shuttled him upstairs.

"Going to take the air mattress," Hank provided, though. "Set it up in the room across from the one you're usually in."

E squinted harder. "In the workout room?" he gaped.

Hank shrugged at that. Wouldn't exactly call it a workout room. Though, did seem to be where they were storing some free weights at the moment. Erin had made some passing mention when she'd finally given him a tour of the place that they might buy a treadmill or punching bag or weight machine or something for the space when they had a bit more room in their budget again. For the moment, though, the room was pretty much a vacant space. Sort of suspected that by the time they had room in their budget to be affording any fancy exercise equipment that they couldn't just go use at the gym or manage with hitting the pavement themselves, their might (he hoped – for them) have a little bundle on the way. That'd quickly eliminate any surplus budget room. And was sure they could come up with a lot better uses for that space than a place to store a few weights too.

"Nice quiet space for you to get some shut-eye in. And near the john."

E sighed at him but didn't give further commentary. Was still weighing how much that was because E just didn't feel up to arguing that much or if it was more that he accepted the kinds of battles he'd lose. This one was on the list.

Got Erin's gift finished and gestured for E to set it to the side.

"Which one's next?" he asked.

E gazed at his little pile of treasures. Had paid for everything himself that year. Had done good. Some of it was a little odd presents. But were also very Ethan. Figured given the people on his giving list, they'd still give him the appropriate reaction and appreciation for his efforts. Kid really had tried. Heart and mind had been in the right spot. But since it was his money, Hank had refrained from giving commentary or input on the choices unless the item went above an amount he thought was acceptable for the kid to be spending. Didn't need to be dropping a bunch of money on everyone. Thought that counts. And he'd definitely thought of everyone. Just that some of the gifts were very clearly the selections of a thirteen year old boy. Kid had tried, though. That mattered a whole lot.

"I guess Henry's," he said. "It looks hard to wrap."

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged, taking the toy. "Toys usually have funny shaped boxes."

E just sat there quietly. Seemed to at least sort of trying to take in his methods in measuring out the right amount of paper so you didn't end up with a huge surplus. Trying to learn. But his eyes looked so glassy and tired it was hard to tell if he was really absorbing any of it – or if he was just trying to keep his eyes open at all and not hurl while watching the movement and the colors on the gaudy Christmas paper. Seemed like the choice was always to buy one nice roll but then have everyone's all wrapped in the same shit and not know who's was who's or to buy a pack of paper that contained maybe one or two nice patterns if you were lucky. This year had broken down an bought a little kid roll with Henry on the scene. Been a two pack of ugly and uglier. Still ended up buying another roll to keep hidden away from general use for the boys' Santa presents. Not that he had to really hide paper that year. Magoo didn't believe that it was special paper from the North Pole so that's why only one present was wrapped in it anymore. And he didn't have Erin coming over to still his paper since she was too fucking cheap to buy her own. Or Justin showing up at the last minute with gifts still in their shopping bags and being ordered to use the paper upstairs because he wasn't going to put gifts with their goddamn prices on them and receipts in the plastic bags under the tree for his brother and sister. So fucking disorganized. Fatherhood and the Army – and maybe having a wife to manage that sort of shit for him – had fixed some of that a little in the time they'd had in his regenerated life.

"Are you doing stockings?" E asked after gazing at his work for a while.

"Know the answer to that," Hank put flatly, trying to keep his annoyance in check. His boy had been with him when they'd picked some of the little trinket surprises for everyone. Give a couple little gifts beyond the socks, soap and chocolate in there.

"I mean where?" Ethan said with his own annoyance – no where near in check.

Hank cast him a firmer look and smacked. "Ethan, we aren't going to keep talking about this. You didn't want to do Christmas at your sister's you should've said—"

"I meant are you stuffing the stockings this afternoon here or tonight at Erin's?" E spat at him.

Hank made his eyes firmer and gave him a little nod. "Really don't like the way you're talking to me this morning, Ethan," he said. "Patience is wearing thin. I have to say that again and there's not going to be any stockings or anything else. You're going to get into bed and sleep off the drug and the attitude."

His boy's eyes stayed up a split second more but darted away, his finger running along the throw rug they were seated on. Got real quiet. So Hank went back to wrapping. Wasn't getting help when he'd got things folded and was ready for tape.

"You going to do your job or are you going to get into bed?" he put to his son again.

E gave him a cautious glance and Hank nodded at the present. His kid's eyes shifted to it and seemed a little dazed until it clicked that he was waiting for a piece of tape. He managed to get a piece ripped off and in place. Taped the rest of the seam while Hank started to fold up the ends.

"I don't think Erin got anything for your stocking …" E said quietly, not looking up from his slow work at his tape job.

"That's fine," Hank muttered. Really was. Didn't really like that his girl had started spending money on putting things into his sock and still clearly was paying for the bulk of anything under the tree that had his nametag on it since Camille had been gone. Was really unnecessary. Christmas was for the kids and for time with family. Didn't need the gifts. Happy putting some toiletries and chocolates in his sock on his own for show with Ethan when he was still little and half-ways believed. Didn't need anything else.

Flipped the toy around and folded up the next end, giving it a tap. But the tape didn't come. Gave his boy a glance. E was just staring at him more nervously, biting at the inside of his cheek a bit.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked timidly.

"No," Hank put to him firmly. "Just need you to talk to me like I'm your father, not some idiot on the playground." E scuffed his hand around the rug again and Hank pressed his finger against the fold again. "Ethan, we need to finish this up and get wheels up. C'mon."

His son gave him a little sigh but placed the tape. Hank set that gift to the side and shifted his eyes back to the couple remaining items. Halstead and the kid had picked up something for Eva too. But out of the corner of his eye he saw E struggling to get himself upright.

He gave him a glance. "You going to lay down for a few while I finish this up?"

"No …," Ethan muttered and started to walk away. Toward his closet.

Hank grunted and watched him. "Ethan, want to finish this then you can pack. You going to pack now and I'm going to take over down here."

E gave him a glance but just bent down into the closet, disappearing for a moment and rummaging around before emerging with a sagging plastic bag in his hand. He gazed at him again, biting that inside of his cheek. Looked real nervous. Would say his hands were shaking, if he didn't know his son had been tremoring real bad that morning already.

"I know I didn't do it as good as Erin and I know you'll likely think most of it is just dollar bin junk, but I got some stuff so you can have a stocking too," he said carefully. "So maybe … you can give me your stocking so I can try to figure out how to stuff it or whatever …"

Hank just stared at him. Took him a minute to absorb that. To process it. To see his broken kid – in far more ways than one – standing there in front of him with a bag of supposed goodies. This kid that he'd spent a whole lot of the morning doing his best to keep his patience and own emotions about the holiday in check to avoid snapping at him or contemplating smacking him up the side of the head. And here E was … trying.

"You didn't have to do that, Magoo," he finally said after weighing his words and his reaction.

"I know …," Ethan allowed. "It's just you do lots of nice things for us. So I thought I could do this so maybe things felt a bit more normal for you too."

Hank grunted at him. But really it was a noise to try to hide the croak in his throat that was forming. So he just nodded and gestured for his boy to come over. Needed to hug him. Hold him. Hold onto him – the good, bad and exceedingly frustrating parts of his kid.

E started his lopsided stagger over with the bag, but Hank gestured again. "Put that down," he said. "Don't want to ruin any of the surprises."

Though, E doing this – for him – surprise and gift enough as it was.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Your feedback, comments and reviews are appreciated. The chapter immediately before this was posted earlier this week. As expected, readership and reviews are low with the holidays. But please make sure you haven't missed it.**


	43. Cookie Dough

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin glanced toward the stairs as she heard the heavy footsteps that were clearly Hank's. She wanted to give a sigh of relief that he'd gotten there because she wasn't sure how much she was enjoying baking and babysitting duties of a group of kids – on her own. She supposed she wasn't entirely on her own. Jay was around but his phone kept ringing and he kept disappearing to take the call out of earshot. Not her earshot – Ethan's. Because too much Ethan heard got reported back to Hank. This wasn't something Hank needed to catch wind of until Jay decided what he was going to do. And, right now, he seemed so undecided.

SWAT. Him putting in his transfer papers. Him leaving Intelligence. Her staying. It felt like one of the most circular discussions they'd ever had. And they had their share of circular discussions. Where the other didn't really submit their opinion or no one really said how they were feeling. Where they just didn't talk about the problem until they were already engrossed in it and their body language and attitude had long ago alerted the other party that something was up. But they still waited to divulged what was really bothering them. It seemed to be their unspoken agreement on how their relationship would work. And maybe in a lot of ways it worked for both of them. Because they both had their baggage. They both had things they didn't particularly want to talk about. But it also meant a whole lot of shit just didn't get dealt with and seemed like these neverending circular conversations they had. Maybe they both needed to work on their communication skills in a long-term relationship.

The funny part about this conversation though was that hims transferring had been Plan A. It was the route they'd decided they were going to take before Justin died. But it was on the long list of "before Justin died" elements that had just seemed to change everything. A long list of more circular, never-ending conversations to be had on topics they didn't much want to talk about.

Funnier still was that she was the one who'd more readily come to accept that they should still go ahead with Plan A. That it made the most sense. That her leaving Intelligence would just make a bigger mess when the whole unit was already under the microscope. When she was. When Hank was. And really, she knew the decisions she'd made had affected her entire career. She'd made her choice. And now she was more connected to Hank for life than she had been before. She might've repaid her debts – to some extent – but she hadn't severed ties. If anything, she'd just strengthened them. She'd put the noose around her neck and he was now the one holding the rope. He was the one who'd hang her. And she wanted to – needed to – be around to look him in the eyes well he did it. To dare him to. To make him see and understand what he'd done. All these choices he'd made for his family. Or so he said. Good or bad, he'd taken too many actions, that whatever his intentions, had driven all of them down paths they shouldn't have gone down. Ones none of them ever should've had to. But they had. And now it seemed like they'd be stuck on their path for the rest of either life.

Hank liked saying that if you passed your exit on the highway, you don't just fucking stop. She had used to think she understood what he was saying. That she'd bought into it. She'd seen the truth in that statement. Now she just wished he put on the breaks a bit more. Or wasn't driving on auto-pilot – his guts – so much. That he was watching the traffic and the signs on the raod a bit more carefully. Following the rules of the road. The law.

Maybe then it would've been different for him. For all of them. For her. For Ethan. For Camille. For Justin. For Olive and Henry.

But it seemed like a moot point. There was some validlity to thepoint that now it was the past. Decisions had been made. Time had passed. They were all still fucking there. Still swimming in the sludge of their making. And they just need to keep going.

So why not keep going with Plan A. Just accept Plan A for what it was. Some of the reasoning behind her staying in Intelligence might've changed now. But maybe that should be a moot point too. Maybe they should just do what was best for them. For Jay's career. For their relationship. For their family.

She'd miss having him as a partner. But sometimes seeing each other every day, all day at work was a little much. Sometimes it was hard to come home and want to look at each other still. Sometimes it created more arguments. Sometimes they couldn't turn off work. Sometimes it felt like it meant that the only thing they really had in common was work. That all they talked about was work. When she wanted to connect with him and relate to Jay in other ways. For them to be more than the job. For their relationship not just to be built on the job.

And then there was just the practical matters too. They couldn't be married and in the same unit. And as it was there were moments where she struggled to cast him as just another cop or just her partner while she was on the job. And for in high pressure situations to do her job without worrying abut him. Without thinking about him – and his safety – more than the victims and the situation at hand. Her job was to have his back. But her duty was to protect Chicago. They both had to be willing to take bullets for that. To risk life and limb. And to be able to still do the job when someone had a knife to their throat or a gun to their head. When another cop was bleeding out. To go after the bad guy or check the victim before caring for their partner.

And that was getting harder and harder to be in that headspace as time went on. As their relationship grew. As she wore that ring around her neck – tucked under her shirt on its long chain so it rested close to her heart. As she took that ring off the chain each night as she got in the car on the way home and put it back on her finger. As she had to play cop and partner and friend and girlfriend and finance. And she was scared they'd reach a moment before his finalized what he was doing – before he transferred out – that she had to make a choice about doing her job or taking care of him. She didn't want to be faced with that choice. Not now. Not again.

It'd be the end of her. And her career. It didn't matter if careers or jobs or bosses came and went. She didn't want a decision in the moment to be why they changed. She didn't want to find out what that decision in that moment said about her or about her relationship. Or where her truths and duties and allegiance really lay.

And even more practically, them being in the same unit? On the same scenes? And cases? Racking up the same list of enemies? That wouldn't be good if … when … they had a family.

It was something she'd thought about more and more since the pregnancy. Since the miscarriage. Two parents in the CPD was enough. It was already putting any kids they had at double the risk of heartbreak in their life. A lost childhood. A loss that she'd watched the implications of for years in Ethan. One that she knew would still have implications on him as a teen and a young adult and an adult and a grown man and a husband and father. Kids shouldn't have to go through that. Not because their parents got hurt – died – on the job. That was an unfair burden to put on your child. A sick way for them to start out in life.

Jay being in another unit didn't exactly make things safer. But at least it split them up. It meant that Mom and Dad wouldn't likely be in the same place at the same time, in a worst case scenario. That someone would still be there. Someone would still go home. Whatever that home would then look like.

The sad part was that she had some very real notions of what that home would look like. She'd seen lots of evidence and examples of what that sort of loss meant. And it actually made her question if it was even ethical for her and Jay to ever have kids. If one of them didn't walk away from the job.

But he seemed to want one more now. To think about it. To talk about it. To mention it. Not in a pushy way. But in a way that was real. In a way that made it another one of these circular, never-ending conversations because it still wasn't exactly something she was willing to – or ready to – talk about or even think about. All of it just still felt so raw. And that afternoon – with Eth and Eva and Avery and Michelle and the boyfriend and Henry – sitting in her kitchen … her kitchen in her townhouse like a real domesticated grown woman in her thirties … was just making things realer. Rawer. All these ages and fractured families and back stories. Various levels of functionality and vastly different personalities. And all of them cute and loveable in their own annoyingly, frustrating ways.

She knew that generally, overall, she was slightly better with kids than Jay. They both took a bit of a no bullshit approach. But, just like Jay was with most adults, he liked and respected certain people. And those were the only people who really got any sort of leeway in getting some glimpses of the real him and not just the attitude. His front. So some kids, he wasn't particularly patient with.

Still, taking on this baking thing and agreeing on having Eth and Henry over for it – which had now spawned to include four more kids who weren't part of the original plan – had been done with the understanding that Jay would be around to help. Instead, he was around – but he was barely having the chance to work on whatever the hell his potato thing was he had spread over all of her counter and was definitely going to have unintentional seasonings of cocoa, sprinkles, cinnamon, ginger and almond flour at this point with the way the kids were doing their baking and decorating. It was a diaster and chaos zone in there.

Thankfully (and she'd never thought she'd say this about Nina), Nina had shown up. And she seemed more like a Christmas cookie maven than Erin ever would be – or wanted to be. And Nina also seemed pretty comfortable with interacting with the kids. She seemed to be doing a slightly better job – though not much – at keeping the flying baking supplies contained to one area on the counter and the table than Erin had been.

So that was a help. But she was still giving Jay a look every time his phone vibrated and he gave her that look and still took it. Once again retreating from the main level. Heading all the way up to their bedroom or down to the TV room. It sounded like he'd stepped out into the garage a couple times too.

Erin knew exactly what was going on. The legendary Christmas Bumps. The calls that went out around the holidays and the lead-up to the New Year with offers of meritorious promotions and transfers. Bigger pay checks. Bigger opportunities. Fresh new changes and resolutions for the start of the new year. And done in that murky grey area as year-ends were just being submitted. Before stats and reports were truly being examined. While so many people – and the media – were all on vacation and not looking at much of anything too closely. The ideal time to slide people into positions and shift people around or knock them right out. Do it when no one is looking. Or caring. When they're busy focusing on other things. When people might be looking at their own budgets and wanting or needing the extra money. When people are looking for fresh starts and new opportunities with the new year. When people are reflecting on their lives and their families and what they'd achieved and hadn't achieved in the year previous. About what their life – and their family's life, and their career – might look like going forward.

It'd always seemed like something you sort of heard about. That you heard about them enough, that you knew they were going on. But they also sort of seemed like urban legend. That no one ever really owned up to that being how they got a promotion or a coveted position. Even if all evidence pointed to the fact they were a Christmas Bump. That they'd done something – or just enough – in the previous year that had garnered enough attention that someone wanted them for some reason and was willing to go through backdoors to get it.

And she knew that that whole concept would piss Jay off. That he'd feel above it. That it didn't fit into this ethics or his morals. That he didn't need backdoors or connections to move up the ladder. That he'd be scowling about whatever they were offering him. That he'd be scowling more about whatever achievements they were trying to pin it to. Because he'd claim he was just doing his job. That he was police. That it wasn't anything special. And he wasn't looking for recognition or promotion. He was just doing what he was trained to do. And that he'd work his way up the ladder and make any transfers in the process through the right channels.

But he was still taking the calls. Even though Erin knew she'd be getting his commentary as soon as they got some time alone. Which might be a while. And she knew he was taking the calls because it was SWAT. And even if they were now trying to draw him over in the Christmas Bumps – if they'd found the resources to try to offer him a bit more incentive – they'd been pursuing him before Bump Season. But he'd remained stoic in not giving them a decision or signing up for any of the training sessions or skill upgrades. He also hadn't said no, though. And he'd met with them more than once. He'd gone to an info session. A recruitment meeting. He'd talked to them. He'd been offered the opportunity to be placed on a temporary assignment to see if he liked the fit. He'd been offered a job shadowing shift – or two or three – to see what he thought of the work and the guys on the team. And now they were clearly trying to push him forward on committing to some part of that – if not the transfer itself.

She knew if he didn't give them something that day – if he didn't take whatever Christmas present … wrapped up as a neat and quiet bonus – that they'd keep hounding him through the new year. Too bad he couldn't charge OT for taking the calls. Double time and a half on the holidays. Though, they might clue into that they'd both put their names down on the relief lists for the holidays. That they could call him in under that guise. Force a shift on him. He could still turn down the shift, though that wasn't Jay. And, really, pending something ridiculous – which seemed like a possibility more and more in the world and 2016 – it wasn't like the SWAT unit would really be doing much of anything on the holidays. It'd be easy money. It'd be Jay going in and being sold to even more. Sitting with whatever on-call was there and whatever supervisors were trying to twist his arm into this transfer. That he'd get shown the place and get to play with their toys. And he'd get a fat pay check for humoring them.

If he was humoring them. It was hard to tell. As much as he preached he wasn't interested right now. That he was still going to stick around a few more months and let things settle a bit more before putting in for a transfer. As much as he said there were other units and other jobs that he was more interested in – Erin knew in a lot of ways SWAT was Jay. That if he couldn't be Intelligence, the kind of work that he'd get to do there would suit his personality and his skills. That maybe he'd feel like he was doing more meaningful work in other units – but that didn't necessarily mean he'd be better at it. And, really, some of the units he'd expressed some interest in watching for openings in, she wasn't exactly excited about him working there. Too much undercover. Too much pain and suffering in a different way than the scum and the death and evil they dealt with in Intelligence. And, again, she wasn't sure those moves made sense long-term if he really did want them to start having real conversations about the if and when they were actually going to try to get pregnant. The if and when they were going to have a child. A family. And she thought he knew that too. Because as much as he might be humoring them. As much as he preached lack of interest –he was still answering the phone. Every time. He hadn't told them to fuck off yet. And Jay – he didn't hesitate to say just that to just about anyone.

So with Jay's help at the minimum, she was sort of relieved to see Hank come stomping up the stairs. Though, a glance at the clock made her wonder if he was actually there for the night at that point. It was earlier than she expected. He'd said he'd be around by dinner. Which with Hank could mean anywhere from about 6 p.m. through 10 o'clock. Though, with Eth on the scene he'd started eating at more normal hours, and not just living off late bites. This might just be a drop-off visit, though.

He gave her a little nod as he got up the stairs. She noted that he hadn't bothered to take his boots off for all the shit he spouted about boots in the house at his place. But it confirmed that he likely was just going to be in and out.

Eth glanced in his direction too. "Hi, Dad," he offered. Still a little weakly.

Ethan wasn't exactly himself that day. But she'd pretty much prepared herself for that. But for all the talk leading into the holidays about traditions, he seemed to be flagging a bit. She was hoping that Hank – and Eth's doctors – were right and that by tomorrow morning, the worst of the nausea and fatigue from the drug had worn off and he was able to enjoy Christmas. Or that he managed to find it in himself to make himself enjoy it. She knew for all of them it was going to be a bit of an effort to enjoy the holiday. But, she supposed, at that point at least they were all trying. As much as they could.

"Hey, Kiddo," he responded, giving his son a thin smile. A little strained, but most of Hank's smiles looked that way and Erin could tell there was a sincerity under it.

Eva looked his way too. "Hi, Mr. Voight," she said much more cheerily.

Hank grunted and gave her a little nod. "Gotta stop calling me that," he rasped at her. "Told you, Mr. Voight's my father."

Eva gave a little shrug and went back to gazing at the bowl her little brother was awkwardly stirring.

The whole simple Christmas cookie thing had kind of backfired. Apparently Ethan had had a minor meltdown that morning about not making everyone's favorites – which was the tradition that Hank had managed to establish with him. Even doing up a batch of five people's favorites created too many cookies in year's previous. And while Ethan was away at boarding school, it had settled into Christmas Eve becoming their baking day, which ultimately just meant there were way too many cookies available by the evening and through Christmas Day. It was everything all at once. And just sugar overload while Eth was home from school. Some usually got taken into work to get them the hell out of the house. But that only helped Erin avoid the temptation so much since they just ended up in the break room waiting to be devoured. She supposed that was a positive about working with guys. Anything food related – especially junk food related – seemed to disappear quickly. So at least the temptation was usually short lived. Though, still present, especially when it was her family's favorites that were up for offer.

She should've known that Ethan would have that kind of meltdown. But she'd talked to him about fucking cookie baking day. That she'd do it with him. But that she wanted to keep it simple. Something for him to decorate. That's it. He seemed OK with that. Even though it was a variation on his established traditions that he'd been preaching.

And she'd hoped it really could be that simple. That she could manage some sugar cookies and a simple gingerbread recipe. That they could do some salt dough so he could decorate the tree, if he wanted. That she could manage that. That it'd be an easy way to put in a few hours with her brother and nephew, and that it'd provide some treats to put out for the family and for Santa (which Ethan was insisting Henry needed to do even though Henry didn't have a clue what was going on and Erin was sure that the "Santas" in the house would've had more than enough of the cookies by the time Ethan and Henry were both asleep and Santa could come).

Her first indication that it wasn't going to be that simple, though, should've been when Jay had gone and printed out all these recipes from his M.S., paleo, gluten-free, vegan, keto … whatever the fuck … recipe websites. That he'd given some little speech about making cookies that Ethan couldn't eat not making much sense and not being very fair. It wasn't like she disagreed with that statement, but she also felt Ethan had just reached the point that he understood that was just the way the cookie crumbled. But with all the back-and-forth her and Jay had already had about the holidays and how they were going to play them and handle this all this year and in their relationship and within her family … and his – another one of their fucking circular conversations that because of it's time-limited nature hadn't been allowed to be never-ending – she hadn't gotten into a power struggle with him about it. She relented. And she'd agreed to doing ONE recipe that Ethan could potentially eat – if it came out edible, which was highly questionable.

Thing was it'd been Jay who'd picked up baking supplies in their fucking last minute running around that had ended up having to be a bit of a divide and conquer endeavor. And the whole ONE recipe had gotten thrown out the window. He'd picked up the ingredients for THREE fucking recipes. Which he claimed looked "super simple". One – she did not believe that making anything Ethan could eat was simple. And two – anything that was "simple" likely meant there were almost no ingredients in it, which likely meant the few that were were not anything that any sensible person would mix together. So three – that meant that these fucking "simple" recipes were probably going to be completely inedible. So they would've cost a fortune in this fucking specialized this and that and the other thing alternative diet crap ingredients. They would've been a pain in the ass to make. And they were likely going to end up in the trash. Unless Kevin and Adam really proved they were willing to eat pretty much anything that was free. Which she wouldn't put passed either of them either.

So as of 7 a.m. that morning she was prepared to endure making FIVE fucking kinds of cookies with the kids. Only to get a call from Hank around 9, informing her of the said meltdown, and him asking if he picked up the ingredients, if she'd make the fucking favorites with Ethan. She'd agreed to do Justin's favorite. Reluctantly. Because that was six kinds. And the fucking peanut butter marshmallow bars that the brother she'd grown up with always wanted at the holidays were pretty much a diabetic coma in a pan. She didn't even want to think about how many empty calories were in the things. Or that Justin had been able to – if no one was monitoring his selections off the cookie tray very well after he hit his teens – eat through the entire fucking tray himself. That was disgusting enough to think about. Worse was looking at the things. She'd changed diapers of Henry's that had similar coloring and consistency as the fucking squares. And it was just a sticky, constantly stirring mess to make the things no matter how easy they were.

But again – she was trying to be peacekeeper that Christmas. She was doing her part to make this as easy on all of them as possible as it could be. So if Ethan needed his brother's favorite Christmas cookie to be out that night – even if he wouldn't even likely get to whiff them for fear of sending his body into inflammatory shock – then fine. They'd make the fucking cookie.

Only apparently Hank had decided he needed to be peacekeeper at the grocery store with Eth too – and he'd dropped off the kid with the recipe cards and the ingredients for EVERYONE'S FAVORITES. Which Eth seemed super happy about. Erin did not. Baking day was starting to look never-ending.

And that never-ending only increased when Eva and Avery arrived with the ingredients to make "reindeer feed", which seemed like just cereal and melted chocolate and crushed candy canes – which Avery had taken way too much joy in attacked with the rolling pin. Conclusion: Ten-year-old boys were so weird. And they only got weirder.

So reindeer feed. Fine. Seemed easy enough. Figured she could just send that home with the kids. Or at the kids were eating while baking, there might be none to take home. Though, on the limited amount of time Jay had been in the kitchen, he had implemented a "let them cool", "they're for tonight" stance. Apparently him growling wasn't entirely effective – at least not with Avery. So now she had fucking cooling trays on the top of her fridge to keep them out of children's reach. Sort of.

And then Michelle had arrived with a tin of pre-made cookies of her and her dad's favorite – chocolate peanut butter – and a fucking tube of Pillsbury Christmas cookies. Al had apparently shoved them at her to contribute. And them having been the easiest things to get in and out of the oven so far, Erin could confirm that the cookies looked as unappetizing as they tasted. Not that that had stopped the kids from working at eating through them while they worked on the rest of the baking.

It was more than enough. Only Nina had arrived with her contribution too. Lemon zest shortbread? Holly Dollys? Double-chocolate fudge Christmas M&M brownies? That clearly screamed someone who had more experience baking than anything the Voight house had ever managed in Erin's 16 years with the family.

The sugar cookies and icebox cookies were about as close to actual baking they ever got. And that appeared like challenging enough recipes for the family. They usually came out of the oven burnt. Erin was actually pretty convinced that Camille had started letting Ethan decorate the things to hide the disaster that was her baking efforts. For all Camille's good intentions over the years – for all the birthday cakes on their birthdays and desserts pulled out at family dinners – baking was not her strong point. Not unless it was something that was supposed to look like a slopped up mess on your plate. Crumbles, crisps, upside-down cakes. Though, Erin was also pretty convinced that she had no real idea of what upside-down cake was – beyond another one of Camille's failed efforts at baking a cake but her glowing efforts at trying to be a good mom. Ironically, out of the list of things Camille made for the family – that Hank just couldn't pull off – that Erin missed getting on occasion, that fucking upside-down cake was on the list.

She remembered whenever Camille had brought out another failed effort at baking to the Sunday dinner table and they'd all kind of rolled their eyes or teased her, Hank always put to a stop to it. Provided two reminders – that if they didn't like it, they didn't have to eat it, didn't need to provide commentary about it. And, that it all ended up looking the same after you put it in your stomach. Didn't matter what it looked like on the plate. And Erin supposed he was right.

And, really, the charred Christmas cookies wasn't just a commentary on Camille's baking. It was really all their baking. It was likely a sign that they shouldn't be making cookies – at least ones that needed to go into the oven. Camille had seemed recognize that. Erin had sort of wished she'd remembered that and considered the reasoning behind the why the rest of their "baking" at Christmas – beyond Hank somehow managing his mother's gingerbread cake every year despite his claims the rest of the year that he didn't know how to bake (though Erin was really starting to think was him just giving Camille space to manage that with her kids, to share those memories, and for him to not show her up as the better one in the kitchen) – had always consisted of "cookies" of the melt and drop variety.

It made actually edible "cookies" and squares. But it was basically a giant mess to make them and an even larger pain in the ass to get the pots and double-boiler cleaned between rounds. But every year Camille had gone through the "baking" disaster with them growing up. With her and Justin. And then Ethan. And as much of a mess it was, Erin had still usually found her way back home on Christmas baking day. To help with the mess. To visit with Camille. To spend time with Ethan while he was still a little boy and loved the mess of chocolate and marshmallows and candied cherries and sprinkles in the kitchen. To feel like a family. To enjoy the traditions she'd been taught. To have a Christmas. And not just a Christmas a holiday season. Days and weekends and evenings and nights that were sprinkled from Thanksgiving all the way up to the big day that were worth going home for.

She could understand where Ethan was coming from. About the loss of those traditions. About going through the changes. About coping with them. And about them feeling like they were ripped away.

Because it'd all changed when Camille was gone. That first year, it'd barely been a Christmas. Hank was still beside himself even though he was still putting up that front that he was fine. He wasn't. And, in a lot of ways he'd checked out on her and Justin. She thought she could understand that too. That Ethan – the hospital – having that distraction was the only thing keeping him afloat then. Keeping him from going entirely off the rails. But Ethan had just barely gotten home from the hospital by that Christmas. He was home and that was supposedly Christmas present enough. But he could barely remember who any of them were from one moment to the next. They had to keep reminding him. He was still in diapers. He couldn't handles the stairs yet. And he was nearly non-verbal – beyond the nightmares and the spine-tingling shrieks that would jar the whole house awake. Then the near incoherent ramblings of a broken mind while his dad held him and rocked him and still tried to act like they were somehow going to get back to normal.

They had and they hadn't. For each step forward they made, they'd taken steps back in other areas in their life. Justin had slide. Erin had slide. Hank had slide. Maybe it was really only Ethan out of the lot of them who'd made any true progress.

And maybe it was because he couldn't remember all the things about the way things were. The way his family had been when he was a little boy.

These traditions he was clinging onto now – that he wanted re-enacted that year – they weren't the same traditions that Erin would point to from her teens with the Voights. She knew some of them weren't favorite holiday activities that Justin would point to either. That a lot of what Ethan had dredged up as tradition were the fractured holiday that they'd put together for her baby brother in the aftermath of his recovery and the loss of his mom. In the already gaping hole that was in their house and their family.

Things Ethan wanted to do and remember and cling to were how Hank had shaped the holidays for his son. The traditions he'd been able to bring himself to continue – or the ones from the past that he desperately wanted his son to have in his childhood too. But Hank did Christmas differently than Camille. It wasn't the same. And somehow continuing on with these made-up normalcies now that Justin was gone too made it even harder. It was time to pivot. To redefine the holidays again. To cling on to what they wanted to or needed to – but to change. To make the holidays their own again. New traditions. New routines. New memories. Because trying to do what they'd done before was never going to feel right.

Just like none of these cookies were looking right. Though, Eva and Avery had been demonstrating to them how to do some of melting in the microwave, which was speeding things a long a bit. But also was a strange reminder of how long the Voights had lived without a microwave. And she was pretty sure Hank didn't know how to use the one that was in the house now. She'd seen him still "warm up a plate" in the oven rather than he'd toss it in the microwave for a minute.

But even with the microwave chocolate chip-melting trick, things were only going so speedily. Erin wasn't sure they'd be done their baking by the time Eva and Avery's brother showed up to pick them up. But she did know that she was going to be having to send them home with a rather significant cookie tray. Really, it looked like she should be opening a bakery. Or was hosting a cookie exchange. Or should've thrown an actual party – because there was no way all this stuff was going to be eaten in the next twenty-four hours.

"My dad says I shouldn't call you Hank," Eva recited back to Hank.

It made Erin smile a little. Because Eth really couldn't have picked a girl who was more like him in so many ways, while still being completely unlike him. Eva was so chatty too and quoted her father like he preached the gospel too. But Erin was starting to just appreciate when a kid went through the kind of medical hell that kids like Eva and Ethan experienced, they picked someone to cling to. Their life preserver.

It wasn't just the doctors who 'saved' them. They had to trust their parents to get them through it. To make decisions in their best interest. To be there holding their hand through it all. And giving them the hugs and the kisses that couldn't make their boo-boos better – but still tried to give them the false comfort and assurances that they were going to pull through it. Eva and Ethan were lucky – they had. At least so far.

And both kids had gone through their living hell with their dads being that life preserver for them. They both might've had other people around – Eva had her brothers and her grandmother, Ethan had had her – but it was still your parent that you wanted to make it better for you. Still your parent – Daddy – that you reached out for.

Ethan did it all the time. Hank was on a pedestal. And it didn't matter how angry he got at his dad, it was always Daddy he wanted when he was sick and when he was at the hospital. He was Ethan's first choice. He likely always would be. And, Erin hoped Hank never betrayed that trust – that covenant – he held with his boy. That he knew how far that fall from the pedestal would be and that if he did fall from it, he'd be so damaged that their relationship likely wouldn't ever recover. Because as much as Hank wasn't Ethan's whole world – because he wasn't; Eth had other people and other interests and his own personality and goals and aspirations – he was still the center of his universe.

And that was something she was still working on coming to terms with in her own anger at Hank. But in some ways getting to spend time with Eva that fall – a kid so similar and so different from her baby brother – was helping her keep it in perspective. To understand where it was coming from more.

And it made her think about her own things – her own perspectives and life experiences with her father. With Hank – the man who raised her, her father figure, the man who her little brother still so desperately wanted her to still call 'Dad' too. And with the father she'd never gotten to know or gotten to have. All the assumptions she'd made about that and all her curiosity about who he was and what he was. And why she hadn't been worthy. Why she hadn't been wanted. Why he didn't rescue her from the situation. From Bunny. About how if having a father when she was little had fundamentally changed her. And her perspective of herself. And of men.

She supposed too it made her think more about the opportunity Bunny had put in front of her. To meet her dad. She knew there had to be some catch. There always was with Bunny. That this was some sort of play. She was playing someone. It might be her. It might be this Jimmy Sanguinetti that Bunny was floating as her father. Or maybe it was Hank. Because Bunny knew had been trying to screw up their relationship for years. Doing everything in her power to do that. And Erin knew that her mother knew that Hank had lost Justin. That he was in a vulnerable spot. And in her twisted mind this was likely a good opportunity to hurt him or fuck with him. To kick him when he was down. Because Bunny also must've fucking known Erin would put that name in front of him and let him know that she had the opportunity to meet this man. To gauge his reaction to the whole situation and even his reaction to the name that was both somehow familiar and unfamiliar to her.

But memories of her father? They might as well be shadows on a wall. She was too little to remember his face or his name. The most she thought she might be able to pinpoint was his voice. But those were the memories of a little girl and likely would've had to be over a crackling prison phone call for her to truly make the connection.

It didn't really matter. All she knew was that every time her life started to feel normal there was another pothole. That just as she was starting to come to some fucking sort of acceptance about how to let Hank back into her life, how to be there for Ethan, how to balance both. That just as the job started to feel normal again and like something she could keep doing without constantly watching her back and watching Hank's illusionist act. That just as she got engaged to a great guy who consistently made her feel a little better about the male gender as a whole. That just as they bought a fucking house and she started to actually feel her age in a good way – like a real functioning adult woman moving toward all those normal milestones that all the fucking people post on their fucking Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and SnapChat accounts. That just as her and Jay were starting to heal enough from the miscarriage that they could actually form sentences that included "pregnancy" and "baby" and "family" without one of them welling up or shutting down. That just as she was starting to wrap her head around the fact that this likely was normal – and as normal as it was going to get, and that she didn't need to arbitrarily wait until her thirty-third birthday to think about starting a family, if it was something that her and Jay wanted now. That just as she fucking felt functional enough – even with everything they'd been through that year – that she thought she might actually want a family. Want kids. And a lot of coming to that realization was because of what they'd been through. And then Bunny had to go and dump this on her. Layer it on bit by bit in the lead up to the holidays.

So she knew it wasn't just Jay who was checking his phone every time it vibrated. And it wasn't just him who'd be having to make a decision in the New Year. About if she wanted to meet this guy. If it'd give her closure. Of if it'd just be revenge against Hank for everything he'd put her through that year and who he'd forced her to become. What he'd force her to become. On if it'd make things better or worse. On if she'd be playing right into Bunny's hand by meeting this guy. On if he wanted something. Or if Bunny did. On who was manipulating who. And why. And what would any of it really accomplish but upsetting her? It was probably another banana peel. It had all the makings of it. But she supposed she didn't listen to Hank the same way anymore to be told to avoid that. And that even if he did make a comment – which so far he hadn't – she probably wouldn't listen to him now anyway.

"He says it's a matter of respect," Eva continued to rattle off for Hank. "That you're my elder and have a proper title. So you're Mr. Voight."

"Mmm," Hank grunted and looked at the girl.

"You could call him Sergeant Voight," Avery offered and gave Hank a nervous glance from his stirring. Erin could tell that Avery was a little intimidated by Hank. But most kids were on first meeting. He wasn't exactly warm and cuddly even when he was trying not to be scary.

"But he's not my sergeant," Eva contended.

"But you want to be a cop," Avery said, "and you like to kiss butt."

Eva gave him a little shove at that, sending more flour flying but the floor and countertops were pretty much a lost cause at that point. So Erin made no comment.

Hank apparently had lost interest in their argument – or even discussing what he should be called. Because he just set down the pans he had in his hand and went straight for Henry. But that was pretty much protocol anymore too. The hair swish and the kiss on the top of his head and the move to get him out of the high chair. That likely wasn't a great idea. Erin doubted he'd want to get back in it and help with the baking and decorating anymore – though he had seemed pretty fascinated with squishing his fingers in the dough and smearing the dry ingredients all over his tray. But it was likely a worse idea given how covered in those ingredients Henry was and that with scooping him up, Hank's shirt would be too.

Not that Hank seemed to care at all. The clip was undone and his arms under his armpits before Erin even had a chance to say anything about just leaving him be. Being left be wasn't what Henry wanted anyways. Popa was in the room and the "Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa" and the reaching had already begun. Henry had his grandfather on a pedestal too.

Erin knew from experience – from watching him with Ethan – that Hank had a touch with babies. But it was different with Henry. The two of them made the other light up. And sometimes it felt like Hank was the only one who could calm Henry when he got into one of his fits. She didn't think she'd seen Henry cry while Hank was holding him or playing with him. If he was crying, it was because he'd started with someone else or while doing something else, and by the time Popa got involved he calmed near instantly. Erin didn't know how he did it. And she didn't pretend to understand the connection they'd established. But she did know in the few weeks Olive had been back with Henry, it made it harder to hate Hank when she had to see him with his grandson. It made it harder to justify expending all the energy she'd spent in the fall on anger and sadness and rage. Because here was this other little person who still glowed and smiled and giggled and who needed them. All of them – to do that back to him, to make this normal for him, to give him a childhood – as a family.

"Are you just here for the cookies?" Hank teased the little boy, as he cuddled him up. It was a reference to the Christmas shirt Olive had dropped him off in. It clearly proclaimed he was just there for the cookies. It was cute and appropriate. And now covered in his cookie-making contribution. Not that Hank seemed to care as he bounced him a bit.

Henry started working at patting his hands against Popa's cheeks. He quickly realized that was turning Popa's face white with flour and only caused him to giggle and smack his hands against Hank more. Hank just smiled at him as he dodged his head a bit from the more enthusiastic flailing hands he was getting in his face now. He reached and took his grandson's hand, drawing the fingers to his mouth and giving them a fake little gumming. That only made giggle more.

Avery didn't giggle. He squinted at Hank. "Gross," he proclaimed. "You don't know where his hands have been."

Hank made an amused sound at that and cast the kid a glance. "Trust me, kid, have had to eat worse in my lifetime." He shifted his eyes back to Henry and gave his hand another nibble. "Have your hands been in the cookie dough?" Henry just shrieked at Popa's teasing. Hank gave him another little gum. "I think you taste like cookie dough. Cinnamon?" he cast Erin a look.

She shrugged. "It was one of the recipes we tried for Ethan," she provided and gestured at the swirled cookies on the cooling rack. They at least looked nice and the kids had liked getting to layer the cinnamon and roll up the dough into rolls and cut the discs. But Erin still wasn't sure how edible they'd be.

"Look good, Magoo," Hank offered, after giving them a cursory glance.

"My-eww!" Henry cheered and flapped his hands against Popa again before fully flopping against him, burying his cheek in the crook of his neck and then squirreling around again to peek out at them and giggle in his game of peek-a-boo before hiding his face again only to peek at them and giggle some more. Hank put another kiss against the little boy's ear and rubbed his back a bit, clearly trying to calm some of his sillies.

"We haven't tried them yet," Eth said.

"Mmm …," Hank allowed and went over and took one.

"Hank," Erin sighed at him. "We told the kids to stop—"

He just shrugged at her. "Me and H are just going to give them a taste test. Right?" he said to the little boy, taking a bite and then handing the whole cookie to the little boy who too gleefully took it and shoved it into his mouth.

At least these ones didn't have sugar. Olive was almost as much of a tight-ass about sugar with Henry as Hank was with Ethan. Though, Erin would agree with her that day. Henry was too hyped up as it was. Sugar definitely didn't need to be added to the equation.

"They're pretty good," Hank provided, giving Eth's shoulder a squeeze, and gazing at the rest of the ongoing mess in the kids' baking on the counter, H temporarily quieted as he worked at the cookie, which seemed to have his seal of approval.

"Er …," she heard called from the stairs and glanced over to see Jay halfway up them, clearly leaning against a laundry basket that had wrapped presents in it. "You just want to put the gifts under the tree at this point? Think Olive is coming back with some too."

She saw Hank give Jay a glance too. She knew that he likely had his opinion but didn't say it. There was a smack, though. And he turned back to the counter.

"Ahh …," she allowed and looked over at the tree in their living space. "Umm … maybe we shouldn't with Henry."

Henry was into anything anymore. And he was pretty interested in the tree. Or maybe it was more that he was pretty confused about a tree being in their living room. He kept going over and touching it and staring at the lights on it. It was actually likely a good thing it was significantly lacking in ornaments that year. Otherwise, Henry would likely have every one that was within his reach off the tree too.

"Noooo," Avery whined. "You should definitely put them under the tree. So we can shake them when we're done."

Eva gave him the kind of look that only a big sister could pull off. Erin knew that from experience. Little brothers … "Why would you want to shake other people's gifts?" she put to him.

"To figure out what's inside!" Avery told her like it was beyond obvious.

"What do you care what's inside?" Eva groaned at him.

"Because maybe he got something awesome," Avery told her again like it was beyond obvious.

"Ah, yeah," Jay agreed from the stairs. "So, I'll just leave them down here?" Because it clearly wasn't just Henry they should be worried about ripping the paper off early – even if it was only 12 hours early.

"Umm …," she looked at the kids again and looked at the baking they still technically had to get through. She gauged how much more the kids would actually want to do and how long that would take. "Eva, what time is your brother picking you guys up?"

The girl gave a little shrug of indifference. "The store closes at five. So as long he's not like bro talking and getting busy with his girlfriend like … five-thirty, I guess."

Erin rolled her eyes in some defeat at that and shifted her eyes to the clock on the stove. That was still at least two and a half hours to get through with these kids. She really didn't want to be baking for two more hours. She wasn't sure the kids really wanted to either. Though, it wasn't likely they were protesting the activity yet. They seemed to enjoy the mess they were making.

She looked back to Jay. "Weren't you trying to queue up some Christmas movies or something?"

"Home Alone!" Avery declared firmly.

"That movie is so dumb," Eva groaned.

"It is awesome and hilarious," Avery contended.

"Inflicting gross amounts of pain on people is funny?" she pressed at her brother.

"When it's with a blowtorch? Yes," Avery informed her.

"You realize that that movie makes absolutely no sense," Eva said and gestured at her. "Not anymore. That movie couldn't even happen now. They'd just call him on his phone." She moved her eyes to Erin. "How did you even exist without phones when you were a kid?"

Erin shook her head at her. She was so sassy. "We had phones when I was a kid," she nodded at her. "I'm not a dinosaur."

Hank snorted at that. He'd gone over to take a look at the sad little tree with Henry. Encouraging to reach out and touch the few ornaments that had been put on it. She glared at him.

"Before smartphones was pretty much the Stone Age," Eva said. "Prehistoric."

Ethan just turned to look at her. "I thought we were going to watch A Christmas Story?"

She made an exasperated gesture at Jay. "Jay wants to watch that one with you, and Jay needs to finish … this," she said giving him a glare and waving her hand at the potato infested corner on the counter.

"We'll watch it tonight, Kid," he said and started to clunk the basket back down the stairs.

"Don't do that," Hank graveled sternly, giving up his examination of the try and coming back over to the kitchen and in view of the stairs.

"That means someone got something breakable," Eva gave a little nod.

Jay let out a huff at his scolding but hauled the basket up and took another step down the stairs.

"Jay," Erin called at him harshly and he turned, giving her a questioning but annoyed look.

"What?" he said.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Taking them downstairs until you're ready to put them under the tree," he raised an eyebrow at her.

She raised that condescending eyebrow back at him. "And the kids are going to be downstairs in a bit – so maybe the presents they want to shake shouldn't go down there."

He cocked his head at her. "Where do you want me to put them?" he pressed with some annoyance.

"I don't know," she said but gestured at the next flight of stairs. "Upstairs. Somewhere. Our room."

He raised his eyebrow farther at her. "Our room? The fourth floor?"

She just shrugged at him. "You said you wanted to keep up your work out routine over the holidays with the cheat days you're apparently taking."

She could see him readying some reply. Something to sass back. But apparently thought better of it given their audience. They didn't talk to each other the same way when they had people looking on.

Instead, he just gave her a look, as he came to the top of the stairs and rounded the corner to start up the next flight – being sure to be heavy footed in each step.

They'd both already come to the conclusion that if they did have kids and stayed in this house, they were going to be fucked. Too many stairs. Everywhere. At least she'd keep up her cardio on any maternity leave she took. And, lugging around a baby and its accessories wasn't just going to give her great upper body strength – her legs would be ripped from chasing a kid up and down the stairs too. Or carrying them up and down the stairs.

Watching Henry in the townhouse was chore enough. There were baby gates everywhere now. They weren't up at the moment since he had been confined to the high chair and since they didn't just prevent toddlers from navigating the stairs – they prevented Ethan from getting up and down them and he bore no hesitation it projecting his frustration with the latches. Teen-ager tantrums had ensured as he fumbled with them.

So Hank better be watching Henry now that he'd pulled the baby out of the high chair. Because as soon as he set him down on the ground, it'd be the first place Henry would go. And then he'd want you to go up and down and up and down and up and down them with him. You'd think stairs were some sort of groundbreaking discovery and his ability awkwardly navigate them on his short, chubby legs was an astounding athletic achievement with how obsessed he was with the things. And if you decided you were over the stairs before he was – there was a toddler tantrum to deal with too.

Hank wandered back to the counter again. Henry was squirming more now. He clearly was getting ready to be put down.

"When's Olive coming back over?" he asked. But his eyes shifted again to Michelle who'd been way too engrossed in her cookie decorating. Hers actually looked like gingerbread men and her sugar cookies looked like they should be putting a piece of string through them and hanging them on the tree as ornaments. It clearly wasn't just boxing that she had talent in. "Wow," he put to her with a smile.

She glanced up, giving him a small smile of her own. Apparently it had been enough to pull her out of her artistic efforts. "Thanks," she said.

He grunted at her and gave the boyfriend a glance. "Leo …"

"Hi," the kid allowed.

For all the bad-ass street kid that the Latino teen projected and for as rough-and-tumble he looked from his rounds in the boxing ring, he seemed like a pretty quiet and respectful kid from the passing interactions Erin had had with him. From what she saw of him when she still got over to Antonio's boxing gym, if the Youth League was still over in the corner running drills and putting a dent in the bags. She hadn't dug into his back story but she suspected that it was pretty typical of most of the kids in the Youth Boxing League. That they'd been being groomed by a gang, they'd come from a broken family or they'd spent some time on the street, they'd had some brushes with the law, and the demands and structure of the coaches in the youth league – their influences – was their last ditch salvation attempt before they ended up sucked into gang life, jail or dead in the streets.

Didn't really matter what his back story was. Wasn't really her business. She knew that whatever it was – and whoever the kid had become now – it'd passed Al's litmus test, because he was still being allowed to hang around Michelle months later. And even though this Leo was as quiet as a mouse, their was enough in their body language and interaction with each other, that it was pretty clear that they generally did more than just hang around each other.

His eyes shifted again and took in Nina who gave him her own nervous look. Will had clearly said something to her about Hank, because she'd gone from way to happy and cheery and bubbly to just shutting right up when Hank arrived in the room. Erin was almost relieved to have the quiet for a few minutes. Nina was nice but she wasn't sure she was her personality type.

"You Nina?" Hank asked.

She gave him a nervous smile and held out her hand, only to pull it back and brush it off and then hold it out again. "Yes," she confirmed. "That's me. Nice to meet you."

Hank grunted but let Henry slide down his body, placing him on the ground – and off he went for the tree again, doing a fascinated little jig in front of it while he gazed at the twinkling lights. Hank's eyes followed over his shoulder before he moved them back to Nina and stuck out his hand, shaking hers firmly.

"Hank. Voight."

She nodded. "I heard. I mean, I know," she allowed, still shaking his hand long after she likely could've let go. But she seemed to realize that and let go, brushing both her hands against the apron. "I really appreciate being invited. Thank you."

Hank just grunted again and nodded at Erin. "Nothing to thank me for. Erin and Jay playing host. Will's family."

Nina shook her head and nodded at the same time. "I just mean, I appreciate being included."

Hank just grunted again and gave her a long stare. Nina fidgeted. But it was likely clear that he was measuring her up. Being under Hank's scrutiny was never a comfortable thing – even after you knew him. Nina might be used to dealing with microscopes all day, but she likely wasn't used to being under one.

"They treating you OK?" he asked finally with a gesture at the kids.

"Oh, yeah," Nina nodded heartily. "I'm hearing all about the necessity of seeing Star Wars this holiday season, how a sister shouldn't touch her brother's underwear even if folding laundry is on the chore chart, and that Bob Dylan is now quite ironically 'the new modern-retro.'"

Hank grunted and his eyes drifted over to the stereo system, giving it a gesture. "Is that what this shit is?"

"Dad," Ethan scolded, though not about his language, "he basically sounds like you. You should like him."

Hank smacked at his son and shifted his eyes to Erin. "This is the Christmas album Jay decided was best to download for our little gathering."

"Since when does Dylan sing Christmas carols?" he rasped.

"Since 2009," Erin supplied. "Apparently."

"I told them they could use the playlist on my phone," Eva said.

He looked at the girl. "Got any Bing or Nat King Cole or Ella on it?"

She made a 'you're a dinosaur' face at him that time. "Who are they?"

Hank smacked again and gestured at the stairs but stopped, taking a step over closer to them. "Henry, keep away from the stairs," he order firmly. The little boy startled a bit and looked up at him with sad eyes but Hank just held out his hand. "Come to Popa."

The little boy considered that for a moment but then toddled over, Hank gripping at his hand while Henry now worked at trying to push the stool that Michelle was perched on. She glared down at him. She wasn't exactly that little of kid person. And for a 19-month-old, Henry was surprisingly strong. He had some strength to him when he wanted to struggle with you or didn't agree with what you were trying to get him to do. Erin was sure his pushing at the stool legs was enough to create a minor rock that was disrupting her decorative art.

"Got some of the Christmas records in the Escalade," Hank said.

She nodded. "You here now?" she asked.

She got another grunt at that and he looked down, retrieving Henry from his efforts to push Michelle along the counter top. The little boy ended up back against his chest but squirmed around. He was definitely done with Christmas baking.

"Need to do one more errand and go grab the dog," he said, as Jays stomped back down the stairs and from the movement from the room on the main floor, it was clear he'd headed out to the vehicle to retrieve another load.

"The dog?" Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

Ethan's head spun around. "Erin, Bear's family too. It's Christmas!"

She sighed and stared at her brother. But Hank again just smacked and she shifted back to him.

"When Olive's back?" he asked.

She sighed with greater exasperation and ran her hand through her hair, only to realize she'd dredged flour through it in the process. She pulled her hand out and stared at her palm. "I don't know. She needed to do a couple errands too. And wrapping."

Hank nodded. "He been down for a nap yet?"

"No," she sighed and she knew from experience that if she even attempted to put Henry down for a nap now, it meant that he wouldn't go down easily that night and would likely be up in the middle of it. And, if she was sending him back to the condo with Olive that night she might not care, but seeing as he was going to be in her house, she cared more than a little. Not that she thought he'd likely go down for a nap right now anyway. He was clearly in go-go-go mode.

Hank's eyes shifted to Eth. "What about this one?"

"Yea," she acknowledged.

"Hmm," he grunted. "How you feeling, Magoo?"

"He puked," Avery provided.

Eva gave him another shove. "You'd puke too if you'd just had chemo."

Hank smacked and looked at his boy. "OK," Ethan said mutely.

"He has the anti-nausea and the pain medication in him right now," she allowed as an explanation for his deflated balloon routine.

Hank made a sound of acknowledgement, and Jay tromped back upstairs, placing giant roasting pan on her counter. She gaped at it. She wasn't even sure that would fit in her oven.

"What's that?" she asked.

Jay lifted the lid. "Turkey," he said and went back to the steps for his next retrieval.

She gaped at Hank more and gestured at the two pans he'd placed on her counter when he originally came in. He'd made such a big deal about still being the one to make Christmas dinner and that he needed the day to do prep work, he'd assumed that he'd really prepped. That the bird was done and it was already sliced up and in the pan for a quick warm up tomorrow night.

"Lasagna and cabbage rolls," he put to her and nodded at Ethan. "All done up so you can eat them, E."

"What do we need lasagna and cabbage rolls for?" she demanded.

"For tonight," Hank put to her flatly.

She gestured at Jay's mess in the corner. "I told you. Jay's doing some sort of Irish-Welsh Christmas Eve fish and potatoes … thing," she put to him with a clear edge of anger. Apparently it was clear enough that everyone else in the kitchen suddenly had a renewed interested in their baking efforts. Nina really chattering at the kids again in helping them get that double-fudge brownie batter mixed up with the red and green M&Ms.

Hank just kept her glare. "So it turns out you don't need it tonight, you throw it in the freezer for some easy meals next week."

"Why would I need them tonight?" she huffed at him.

He just shrugged at her. "Don't know," he said giving the counter a glance. "Seems like I'm counting ten people here already. Know at least a few more are showing up," he said and nodded at Jay's potatoes. "He got enough on the go there?"

"Some of them are leaving," she hissed.

He nodded and looked over at Michelle. "Alvin meeting you guys over here for dinner?"

"Yea …," she allowed, giving Erin her own hesitant glance. "And I guess I should kind of tell you that he was bringing food too. Or he was trying too. When we were exiled, it sort of seemed like making pulled pork in a slow cooker was sort of a complicated endeavor for him …"

Erin gaped at her and shifted accusing eyes back to Hank. But it was short lived as Jay came back up the stairs with Kelly Severide trailing behind him. Jay crossed his arms as he got to the top of the stairs and gesturing with his shoulder at the firefighter who was clearly already looking like he was ready to make an escape.

"Severide heard we're having an open house today," Jay put to her flatly, raising his eyebrow at her.

Kelly shifted a bit on his feet and gestured back down the steps that he clearly wanted to disappear back down and out the door.

"Ah … yeah," he stumbled. "Mouch had mentioned. He said it'd likely be OK, if I dropped over. Umm …," he stepped forward and held out a single cartoon of eggnog and a cookie tin. "I brought this."

Jay raised her eyebrow at her more and Hank smacked at her. It was a clear 'told you so' smack. She cast him a look but ran her hand through her hair – making it even more unsightly than it was. But she made herself step over, as Kelly examined the disaster that was the kitchen and the clear dominance of kids in the room.

"Ah … so, am I early? Or is this … an open house for kids? Because maybe I misunderstood? That Mouch meant I should bring J.J.?"

Erin shook her head, feeling both Jay's and Hank's eyes on her as she dealt with this. "You aren't early," she allowed. That was the truth. "We're just … late to this party," she added, and she supposed there was some truth in that statement too. Even though, she'd been warned. Or told. Still, she took the eggnog and the tin from him. "Please tell me this isn't cookies."

"Ah, no," Kelly said, gazing around the counter again. "It looks like you've got enough cookies."

"Ah, yea," Erin allowed.

"It's actually Christmas cake," he said. "Herrmann's wife made it. But no one wanted to eat it on shift. Or take it home."

"Oh …," Erin said with a nod, gazing at the regifted cake.

"I'm sure it's good," he corrected with an apologetic hand gesture. "You know, it's just … fruit cake."

"Yea," she managed and put it on the counter next to the fridge. "Thank you …" she acknowledged almost questioningly. Because it really wasn't much of a party offering.

Still she pulled open the door to deposit the eggnog that would likely fill all of four glasses maybe. Or less. Seeing as Jay seemed to have eggnog on his holiday cheat list and could chug back a whole carton on his own in about 30 seconds flat. It was disgusting. And it turned pathetic when he complained the rest of the evening about why he did that to himself, clutching at his stomach and groaning. Not to mention the smell in the bathroom when the eggnog constipation finally passed and he ended up in there for a good 20 minutes and she then had to avoid that toilet for a good two hours after.

She closed the door to find Kelly examining the kids' cookies.

"Pretty good gingerbread, guys," he offered and pointed at one. "What's this one?"

"Chewbacca," Avery provided.

"Hmm," he nodded and cast her a look. He pointed at another. "And that one?"

"Iron Man," Eva said.

"Really?" Kelly said. "I thought it was Santa."

Eva gave him a look. "Why would you decorate a gingerbread man as Santa?"

Kelly gave her a shrug. "I don't know," he said. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Exactly," Eva agreed. "It's obvious."

"Right," he agreed. "Obvious." He pointed at another one. "What about this guy?"

"He's a zombie," Ethan said.

"An actually dead one," Eva added.

Ethan pointed. "That's why he has Xs in his eyes. And blood. And is missing an arm."

"Oh," Kelly nodded and gave her a look an a small smile. "Festive."

She rolled her eyes. But she could see Jay crossing his arms a bit tighter. "Hey, Severide," he called at him and the firefighter turned around. "Did Mouch tell anyone else about this open house thing?"

"Ah …," Kelly gaped and took another gauge of the room, reading her eyes and Hank's and then turned back to Jay's clearly unimpressed look and body language. "I mean, if wires got crossed, I can go. I'm not trying to be a party crasher or anything here."

"No, no," Erin shook her head. She knew Kelly hadn't had the best few weeks either and was in New Year's resolution mode too. Trying to make some changes. Trying to live a better life. One that he felt prouder of. She'd definitely noted that he hadn't come barring alcohol and that he'd selected this uncomfortable situation over planting his ass on a bar stool for the evening.

"We just need to get an idea of exactly who Mouch is telling they can come to this thing," Jay put bluntly.

"Ah …," Kelly stumbled again. "Well, Herrmann. But I guess … everyone. But, you know, it's Christmas. Most people have plans … or family to be getting to."

Jay just directed his eyes to her. He was clearly unimpressed.

"I can go …," Kelly offered again.

"It's OK …," Erin mumbled and planted her hand against her forehead.

"I'm going to get the last load out of the car," Jay grumbled and started back down the stairs.

"I'll help you, man," Kelly said and quickly retreated. Erin wasn't sure she'd see him come back upstairs. But she hoped that Jay got it enough that he'd get the annoyance and awkwardness of having him there would be better than telling him to leave. Because Jay knew what it was like to spend Christmas alone on a bar stool too.

Hank just smacked and she gazed at him. He nodded at her.

"Don't," she warned. "Just don't."

He creased his forehead. "Text me what you need, I'll do a couple more stops while I'm out," he put to her. "Trudy's bringing some hors d'oeuvre type stuff."

"My dad gave us some money for pizza," Eva interjected. "If we're allowed at the party too my brother could order it when he gets here!"

"I can call Will and have him pick up something on the way over," Nina offered. "Or go get something?"

Hank nodded at her again. "Everyone else in the unit has been told if they're showing their face at this thing, they're bringing a contribution to the menu," he said. "You're OK for food. You want some more salty snacks or drinks in the house, I'll pick it up."

She gave a defeated nod and pulled out her phone, staring at it as she tried to organize her thoughts. Tried not to over think the budget or how much this was going to cost. How she wasn't really sure this was what she wanted – at all.

"Call Trudy," Hank said too, coming around the counter and putting his hand on Eth's shoulder again. "Let her chew out McHolland and see how many people he issued this open invitation too. And if he's got a rough estimate on how many people actually might show."

"Yea," she acknowledged.

Hank rocked at Eth's shoulder and her brother looked up at his dad. "Going to be a busy night, Magoo," he said. "Want you to lay down while I go do these couple errands."

Ethan gave him a pathetic look. "But my friends are here."

Hank shook his head. "You need a rest," he said.

Eva looked up at Hank too. "What if we go watch Home Alone, Mr. Voight?" she suggested. "I'll make sure he gets the whole couch. Me and Avery will sit on the floor. And we don't get chatty or silly during it. Just watch and rest. No matter how stupid the movie is."

"It's the best Christmas movie ever," Avery said defensively and in a way that completely undermined the notion that the three of them could manage to be quiet and still for 90 minutes.

But Hank sighed and made a dismissive gesture. The kids seemed to take it, though. At least the three of them. Michelle and Leo were back to being engrossed in their baking. Leo actually seemed to take the measuring of each ingredient to almost a scientific accuracy. But Eth, Eva and Avery, all slipped off their chairs and headed down the steps. Jay would likely be thrilled when he got back in the door to see that he was now charged with getting the kids set up on the TV, if he didn't want them touching his TV set-up that he was more than a little possessive about.

"Olive leave the car seat?" Hank asked as the kids charged down the stairs. Neither Eth or Eva were particularly good at navigating the stairs in the house in a quiet or stable way and seeing all the activity on the stairs in the coming and going and up and down was only making Henry whine and struggle in Hank's grip even more to get set down and join the big kids in their charge.

"I think so …" Erin acknowledged.

Hank nodded. "Going to take him with me. Get him out from underfoot for a bit. Let you get organized."

She sighed. But Hank was glancing around the room.

"Where's the diaper bag? He smells like shit," he said.

"I thought he smelled like cookie dough," she put to him.

"Mmm …," he grunted. "Said he tasted like it. And that I've had to eat worse. Your turn."

And he was right. She definitely felt like she was going to have to eat shit in that moment.

"It's on the stairs …," she allowed. "To the bedrooms."

He nodded with a grunt and adjusted Henry in his grip, as the toddler continued to fuss. Right then she kind of wanted to be the one fussing. And she kind of wanted someone to just fix it as easily and as quickly as a diaper could be changed.

But she supposed Hank was trying to do that right then too.

Save Christmas.

Somehow that had become his M.O. in recent years. As shitty as the shit-storm was, he still somehow managed to make a house and a room – look and feel like Christmas. For them to look and feel like a family. For it to just work.

And there was something she needed to learn in that.

That she could learn. That she would learn.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your readership, reviews, feedback and comments are appreciated.**


	44. Tight

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Jay pushed up the garage door and gestured at a monetarily startled Will, who'd almost reached the door to the townhouse. Thankfully, he'd texted complaining about how far away he had to park from their building that he'd had some idea of his pending arrival and had started loitering near the window to watch for him. Or really to be the one to go to the door and let him in. Or in this case go to the garage and let him in, so he could get a few minute break and vent a bit.

Will raised his eyebrows at him but walked over to garage and stepped inside, as Jay pulled the door back into place.

"What the hell is going on around here?" Will put to him.

Jay just shook is head with an eye roll. "It's actually not as bad as it looks. I think other people have people over too."

"Every alleyway in this place is backed up with cars. All the visitor slots in the parking lots are taken. I had to park on fucking Lytle," Will grumbled, shifting a plastic grocery bag and a gift bag that's bottom looked like it was about ready to fall out of it in his hands.

"It's Christmas," Jay pressed at him. "People have people over on Christmas."

"I'm just saying my car better not get broken into," Will grumbled again.

"On Lytle?" Jay cocked his eyebrow at him at the fucking absurdity of that statement. That was the whole Canaryville denial coming out of him. Their father. Didn't want to admit you were born in Canaryville. Didn't want to admit you were raised almost-sort-of in Bridgeport and wanted to act like just because they lived in vicinity of some less than ideal blocks – that were still blocks away – they were somehow choosing to live in the ghetto.

Will just shook his head at him. Clear acknowledgement that he knew exactly what he was thinking – and was annoyed by it. And moved toward the door. "Going to let me in," he said. "I'm freezing my balls off."

Jay gave him another look. "It's like 37 degrees out. You grew up here."

"I just walked from Lytle," Will pressed at him again.

"And that few hundred feet has really winded you?" Jay put back.

"Look, man," Will said. "It's cold. It's drizzling. I've been on my feet all day and then looking for a fucking grocery store open on Christmas Eve. I'm tired. So let's get this party started."

"What'd you bring?" Jay asked, staring at the plastic bag that was clearly more likely from a convenience store than a grocery store. Will just shoved the bag at him. Jay looked inside. "Frozen egg rolls and chips and dip?"

"It is 7 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Pickings are slim," Will said.

Jay pulled the dip out of the bag and held it at him. "The dip is in a jar." Will shrugged. Jay turned the ingredient list to his brother. "You're a doctor. Does anything on that list even remotely sound like edible food to you?"

Will grabbed the dip out of his hand and then snatched the bag, dropping the dip back into it. "It's an edible oil product," he contended. "And everyone loves chips and dip."

Jay snorted. "That is not drip. But you are so a child of the '80s."

"And so are you," Will put back to him. "And, with who's attending this shindig, it sounded like the menu should be catering to the lot who might've been at their prime partying it up in the '80s."

"So you want to forget we grew up in Bridgeport but you think people eat frozen egg rolls and dip in a jar at parties?" Jay cocked his eyebrow.

"My balls have crawled up inside me far enough on that walk," Will told him. "They aren't available for you to bust now."

Jay snorted and shook his head.

"Seriously," Will put back to him. "What the hell happened to me, Nina and the baby mama's crazy aunt?"

Jay let out a sigh and rubbed at his scar above his collarbone as he tried to figure out how the fuck to answer that. "Platt's like family to Erin. But Platt's husband has a big fucking mouth," was the best he could come up with.

But it actually wasn't as bad they'd thought it might get. There'd been a couple busy hours. People had stopped by – especially in the bit where 51 was getting off-tour. But it seemed that most people really did have their own plans and things and family to get to. Or they just wanted to get home to their own traditions and routines or kids in bed.

The vast majority of the people who'd come through, had done just that. They'd come in, they'd said their Merry Christmases. They'd had a drink. They'd worked through some of the cookies and the appetizers that an incredibly apologetic (and clearly seething) Platt had brought over and the cheese and crackers him and Erin had bought ahead of time and the pretzels and different antipastos and dried meats and pickled everything that Hank had disappeared to get – so quickly that Jay suspected he likely had pre-bought them and had them in one of the cupboards at the house. Because for going out to do a "couple errands", he hadn't been gone more than an hour when he'd returned with all that and it looked like most of his liquor cabinet and some bottles of wine – and Bear. There was no way he could've gotten all that running around done with Henry in tow in that amount of time.

But, really, in a lot of ways, Hank had pretty much relinquished Grandpa duties since getting back from errands. But Olive's aunt was there by then and as flaky as she was, she clearly relished Great-Aunt duties about as much as Voight liked getting time with his grandson. So far, though, Jay got the impression that Henry was getting more time with the Voights than the aunt – or at least alone time. So this woman was hardly letting him out of her grip – no matter how much Henry squirmed out of it to check out the next thing in his busy toddler work.

It'd freed Hank up to be the one who was pretty much managing the party. Now that it was a party. Or an open house. Or a drop-in center. Or whatever the fuck it'd become. They were the hosts but Voight was keeping it in check. Playing sergeant. Though, far fucking friendlier than he ever came across on the job. It seemed like he had some experience with it. And was demonstrating that he could be sociable and personable enough when he wanted to – or needed to. Not a skill that Jay had exactly perfected and it was a bit strange to watch, even though he'd seen it in the man in a few incidents prior.

Voight had been managing the drinks. A real bartender. Seemed to have a fucking surprising command of mixing some cocktails. He'd even fucking thrown together a couple quick batches of spiked nog and punch on the counter for everyone to help themselves to. And he had a mulled cider going on the stove that just smelled fucking amazing. As much as their place didn't exactly scream Christmas in their sparse decorative efforts, it definitely smelt like it now. Weird to know the guy could manage more than pouring a whiskey or a glass of chardonnay or popping the cap on a cold one.

Didn't seem like he minded doing it, though. In some ways, it was limiting his social interactions. And Jay thought that was an interesting method to take in surviving these kinds of things. He fucking hated these kinds of things and having to play nice and make small talk. But up until Will's arrival, it'd been Voight who'd been going up and down the stairs to let people in and giving the kids in the basement in front of the TV the evil eye as he went by. Kept the chitchat to a minimum. He seemed to be pretty much asking them what they wanted to drink on their way up and then getting it out of the fridge, handing them a plastic cup to have at what was out, or mixing it up. Saving his chattable moments to about two minute intervals, which was really more than Hank seemed to tolerate with the vast majority of people.

Jay also sort of got the impression that maybe on the way up – or in that drink pouring banter – he managed to get across that this hadn't been intended to be an open invitation. If they hadn't received an official invitation from him or Erin, they better not be playing on hanging around until right into Christmas. Might have been outright said. Might've been implied. Or body language might've just said it all. Voight was fucking good at that too.

Jay know that with at least the vast majority of the guys from 51, after their drink and their little plate of snacks and little bit of socializing, most had left.

Hermann and his wife and entire gang of kids had been over. But they were there maybe about forty-five minutes. It'd been fucking chaos in that forty-five minutes – mostly with all the kids downstairs – but it'd gone by quickly.

Brett and Dawson had shown up. But Jay got the sense that that was more Antonio checking in then Brett having too much desire to be there. If anything, he'd busted their balls about Brett getting an invite and them not reaching out to him. But he also clearly got that the whole thing had spun outside of their control. None of 51 was supposed to be there. But he seemed to think that was amusing too. They hadn't stayed that long because he was supposed to pick up the kids and have them over Christmas. Apparently Laura was OK with that, which Jay was kind of surprised by. But it seemed like that whole family was going off the rails a bit lately. Separation and divorce didn't treat many families kindly. Maybe it was less kind when the kids were teens and able to fully express and demonstrate how pissed off they were with the whole situation.

While they were over, Gaby and Casey had shown up with their little guy. So, at that point, he pretty had to stop giving Erin looks about her letting Severide hang out there. And they all got a taste of the discomfort and awkwardness with Casey there. Guy seemed bipolar on whether or not he was ready to bury the hatchet with Voight. Guy just was so hot and cold anyway. Jay wasn't his biggest fan. Holier-than-thou complex. Knew that maybe he shouldn't talk but something about him rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe it was just having the extra tension and awkwardness in the fucking room. It was Christmas. Hank had buried his son. Just fucking leave the past at the door for the duration of the visit.

He'd mostly steered clear of them. He'd really mostly steered clear of everyone. He didn't excel at the whole socializing thing. Supposed he was still a loner in a lot of ways. Some times it just felt like that worked better for him. Kept him from having to deal with certain things. Kept him from having to risk getting close to people who'd either disappointment or that he'd eventually lose from his life. Self-protection and self-preservation.

Gaby and Casey didn't stay too long anyway either. Their little guy had clearly been through a bit of a wringer and looked pretty uncomfortable being around that many people he didn't know. Or that many people – period. Gaby had been trying to get him to interact a bit with Henry and Boden's little boy but the kid had just stood there looking like he wanted to cry and clinging to his stuffed monkey that was clearly a security blanket to try to keep him from crying. They likely wanted to get home anyway to have their first Christmas with the little guy. Or only Christmas from some things he'd heard.

At that point they were just trying prep dinner to get set out as a buffet line on their kitchen counter, and couple hour wave of 51 people seemed to have subsided. Now it was basically Intelligence and it seemed like most of them wouldn't be leaving for a while. And they might as well stay, because at that point they had enough food to feed the whole fucking District anyway.

The only person from the team who hadn't shown was Adam. Something was going on with him lately. Figured most of it was just Voight bringing Burgess up. The guy clearly still had feelings for her. The whole way that all of that had gone sideways had definitely been pretty public. A good example of why Voight had his no dating in District policy – that admittedly, he'd become pretty lax about. But even if Ruzek was feeling awkward about Kim coming upstairs, really Jay still felt it was her who needed to prove herself.

Didn't exactly think that Kim was a bad cop – but did think that she was a different cop than him. And that she wasn't exactly his kind of girl. Socially or in a relationship. He wasn't entirely sure she was the kind of personality that was made for Intelligence. And even though she'd definitely survived some rough cases and followed some good leads and made some good arrests, he still wasn't entirely sure if she'd entirely paid her dues yet. There was something about her that still seemed sort of young and naïve. But maybe that was just the bubbly stewardess personality coming out of her. She could bust balls with the best of them – though, she used that phrase way too much for someone who didn't atomically have balls. And it sort of just screamed of someone trying to play with the boys and fit in.

He just wasn't sure she was ready. But he'd felt that way about Ruzek too when Al pulled him over straight out of the Academy. Must be fucking nice. He definitely hadn't paid his dues and wasn't exactly ready. But the job had definitely bashed him around enough that he'd learned quick. Was turning into a decent cop. Didn't mind going into a situation where the guy had his back anymore. Though, he still had a ways to go. Still had to work a bit on his judgment and decision-making.

Seemed like the guy might be at a crossroad in his decision-making. Had seemed fucking quiet and introverted lately since Kim had appeared upstairs. And usually Adam was just too fucking loud and even though enough had happened to knock some of that chip off his shoulder, it still was sitting there some days. On some cases. Jay sort of hoped, though, he didn't make any stupid decisions now. A fucking decision like this based on a new face in the room.

Reality was that Ruzek had walked away from the whole engagement fiasco a whole lot cleaner than Kim. Might've worked out a bit differently if she hadn't gone and jumped into bed with her partner. But Jay could really only say so much about that. Really, he could only say so much about anything when it came to Burgess. Erin got all bent out of shape if he said the wrong thing. He got a fucking lecture about how hard it was to be a woman on the job and how they all had to start somewhere when getting off the beat and patrol. About how they all had a learning curve – even him. That they all fell on their faces and made mistakes sometimes. It'd be how she learned from them and what she learned from him.

Erin's lectures sort of bent him out of shape too. Because to him it wasn't about Burgess not having balls. It was just about trusting the person who had your back when they were out on some of the cases they got sent to. And that trust came from experience. Whatever Kim had or hadn't done on Patrol – it was still fundamentally different than being in the thick of it with Intelligence. Walking into those rooms. Pulling out those long guns. Being the sniper shot. Tossing in the gas. Going in blacked out. Walking into fucking dicey situations while you're undercover and alone, just with trusting the people on your earpiece and in the background – who weren't exactly seconds away from you if things went sideways. Things could go to shit pretty quick.

It wasn't like he wanted Burgess to fail. He just … well, they'd just have to fucking see how it worked out. Not his call. His call would be like Ruzek's – whether he stuck it out. But he really hoped Ruzek stuck this shit out because with Antonio leaving, it was starting to feel like the place was hemorrhaging. He'd sort of been anticipating that after how things went sideways with Voight and Justin. But still. Having to work with a whole new group that didn't know what the fuck they were doing? Just sounded like a mess.

Sounded like a good way for their stats to go down too. Which might be what the Ivory Tower was hoping for. Might be a neat and tidy way to push Hank out. But it'd be pushing all of them out. Didn't really like that idea these days either. As much as he knew jobs and bosses came and went, it wasn't just his job and career and life he had to think about anymore. He knew any shuffling that would happen if Intelligence got shut down would be harder on Erin.

He knew that the wrong kind of supervisors in CPD would likely come sniffing for her because of her connection with Voight. He knew that she might've fucked herself from moving over to something at the fed or state level when she'd bailed on that Task Force. He knew that if she did have to move anytime soon, that any discussions they started having about having kids would get put on hold. Because she wasn't going to want to end up pregnant and on ass-duty for months and then needing to take maternity leave while she was busy proving herself in a new unit with a new boss. He knew she'd want to put in two or three years at a new gig because she'd be willing to even entertain it. And the concept of having to wait until they'd both were pushing past their mid-30s and that number – fucking 40 – was looming to have kids seemed really unappealing. Especially now. If you asked him a year ago, he might've felt differently. But if you asked him a year ago if he wanted kids, he likely would've still said he wasn't sure. These days, though, he was pretty sure what he wanted. And he had the fiancée, the mortgage and the three-bedroom house to prove it.

He was sort of hoping to get a better grip on what Ruzek was thinking before the New Year. If he was looking to leave Intelligence too, Jay wasn't sure him entertaining offers to move right now was smart. Wasn't sure he trusted leaving Erin alone in a unit like that – with the kind of work it did – with too many new faces. Leaving her alone with Voight in the fall out was bad enough. Though, generally, the guy seemed pretty stable on the job. If anything, he almost felt like some of his M.O.s had toned down a bit in the aftermath of it all. He didn't seem to push the limits quite as much. To toe the line. Things weren't quite as much "his way" as they once were. But the guy knew the Ivory Tower was watching. Crowley was pretty much crawling up their asses on a weekly basis. She was definitely making her presence known and making it clear she was watching them – all of them.

He supposed it didn't really matter anyway. He'd been planning to stick around at least a few more months. That should be plenty of time to gauge how Burgess was working out and what the fuck Ruzek was thinking. He was pretty awful about keeping secrets anyway, so it'd only be a matter of time before he said something to someone. Though, the whole Burgess and Roman thing and how it'd come to light seemed like it'd fucked him up pretty good. Been a lot quieter since then and nearly a mute since Burgess had arrived upstairs. So maybe for once he'd keep his mouth shut about whatever he was up to or thinking in his radio silence. Jay might end up having to play nice and endure a beer with the guy to try to pull out of him where he was leaning. Maybe give him a reality check. That he might not have paid his dues to get into Intelligence but he'd earned his spot now. Proved himself. And he'd be kind of fucking retarded to give up his spot there as a young cop who still only had in his jacket a few years on the job and no Patrol experience and no training upgrades or courses. No fucking real-life experiences outside of Patrol. Guy had gone from cushy suburban life in Beverly watching Transformers and chasing after skirts to a cushy college kid life at Northwestern, where it sounded like he did a whole lot more partying than attending classes. Basically he just waited it out until he could get into the Academy – and Jay was pretty sure that Adam's application likely wasn't stand-out enough that he was selected as a prime candidate. His dad likely put in a good word. He was a fucking legacy kid, generational cop, who even with his dad putting in his whole career just on the beat got given enough consideration to take the easy path. Then got to pull another fucking pearl out of his ass with Al being in the right place at the right time to think his fucking brashness was a selling point.

So maybe the guy would be lucky enough that if he moved on, lightning would strike again. Some people just fucking got to coast through life that way. But Jay liked to think that the more likely outcome was that they'd see a guy that was still little more than a rookie on paper and they'd se that he'd spent those rookie years working for Hank Voight. So maybe the best Adam could hope for was ending up really paying his dues and putting in his time on Patrol. And doing that after Intelligence would be a pretty fucking hard pill to swallow.

Realistically, even though Adam was in radio silence, Jay didn't think there was a high likelihood he was being pursued with the whole holiday Bump Season on them. But Ruzek would be the type who'd take that perusal as a compliment and not an insult.

Jay wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was another thing on the list that a year ago he would've had a different answer. But, again, it wasn't just about him anymore. And it wasn't just about the job or his career path. He had a lot of other things he had to think about in making this choice. He just wasn't sure if even when he striped away his feelings about people who got their spots through Bumps or the incentives that SWAT was providing, and the way they'd help him and Erin – his family – with being able to establish and maintain the lifestyle they kind of wanted, if it was really the right choice for him. Because he'd been thinking a lot about units he'd be interested in transferring to since him and Erin had gotten engaged and SWAT hadn't been on the list. It hadn't even registered as an option. Though, admittedly, the more he heard about it and saw its work and the guys over there right now, he wasn't sure it was the worst option. It just wasn't anything he'd really pictured himself doing back stateside. Maybe in some ways it felt a little too much like the Rangers again. Afghanistan on the homefront. But maybe they really were living in that kind of war zone anymore. Maybe applying those skills he'd learned over there to protect his city and its citizens here wasn't a bad thing. Maybe it really wasn't a bad thing when it'd give him a bit more flexibility – and growing seniority – as him and Erin established their live. As they established a family.

"Great," Will said, "because if someone else is going to have a big mouth about this thing, figured that meant I could too."

Jay gaped at him. "You aren't fucking serious?"

"If I have to spend my Christmas Eve with —"

"As opposed to what?" Jay spat. "Spending Christmas Eve with Dad and his latest Barbie?"

Will looked his way with the sarcasm seeping off him. "Is that this one's name?"

Jay shook his head and crossed his arms. Because he was about ready to pull up the garage door and push him back out it. Hopefully he would get mugged in their oh-so fucking unsafe neighborhood that he thought they lived in.

"I'm not spending Christmas at Dad's," Will put to him. "I'm not taking Nina anywhere near Dad."

"Oh?" Jay hissed. "But I had to take Erin over to Dad's last year?"

"I'm not putting a ring on Nina's finger," Will said dismissively.

"Maybe you should," he nodded at his brother. "Before she figures you out."

But it was true. Nina was a nice girl. She was a good one. She was about the best Will had ever done – out of the one's Jay had met or even heard about. And she was smart. After she got over being so starry-eyed, she was going to really see his brother. And if Will hadn't sorted his own shit out by then and started looking at her the way he should be looking at her – the way she deserved – she was going to dump his ass just like every other woman in Will's life. Only he would've broken her heart in the process.

Will cast him another look.

Jay sighed and dropped his arms away from his chest. Because he'd promised Erin that him and Will wouldn't get into it tonight. That they'd save their sarcasm and snipes for another night. That they'd focus on the fact they were brothers and that they'd come a decent ways in repairing their relationship. And remember it was Christmas and they had company. And they had a whole lot of other shit to get through with her side of the family without him and Will having it out.

Besides, he didn't want to have it out with Will. He knew that Christmas was a shitty time for both of them. There was tension about Dad. There was regret about Mom. And there was a whole lot of dredged up memories. So it was best not to get into a sparing match about them. At least not the bad ones. Jay would prefer to find and cling onto that happy ones that night.

"How many people did you invite?" Jay put to him flatly, calmly.

Will shrugged. "Just a few. Needed some of my people here if I am spending the night with a bunch of cops, paramedics and firefighters."

"Your people?" Jay arched his eyebrow. "Just what galaxy are they travelling from? And do you think they'll be able to find parking out there for their spaceships?"

"Aren't you funny," Will said, tilting his head. "I invited Choi. He's one of your people too. I thought you'd be OK with that."

"One of my people?" Jay put back to him. "I hardly know the guy."

"He's a vet too," Will shrugged.

"Oh," Jay made an exasperated gesture. "In that case, why don't we call up Clark and Natalie too?"

"I don't want to talk about Natalie," Will warned him. "And technically, you'd think she'd be doing the whole Christmas thing with her son. Not that she ever talks about Owen anymore."

"Ah," Jay nodded. "So does that mean you're actually talking to her again? In like friendly conversation and not shop talk?"

"I don't want to talk about Natalie," Will muttered, gazing into the gift bag in his hand. "I invited Goodwin too."

"You invited your boss?" Jay put to him.

"You invited your boss," Will put right back.

"He's Erin's … whatever," Jay sighed. "Father-figure."

He knew she'd likely prickle at him even referring to Hank as that right now. The agreement seemed to be that they could still call Ethan her brother and Henry her nephew. They could even still refer to Olive as she sister-in-law. But Hank definitely was not "dad" yet. And even though that created tension with Ethan and just made shit confusing and awkward when everything was already confusing and awkward, it'd been easy enough to accept and maintain. But now with Bunny pulling all this "meet your father" bullshit, Jay was finding the whole arm's length thing with Hank a bit more frustrating. It felt like she wanted more to buy into whatever fantasy Bunny was peddling than deal with the reality. And even though the reality might fucking suck, it was still the reality she'd come from. And, ultimately, she hadn't turned out that badly And a lot of that had to do with the guy who raised her – not whatever Bunny was parading in front of her, and not what Hank had done in the summer.

Still, the comment was enough to get Will to make a told-you-so face at that. He then shrugged. "She's not technically my boss but she does still technically kind of hate me," he said.

"Maybe stop getting the hospital sued," Jay suggested.

"Or maybe this will sweeten her up some," Will provided. "And I get the impression she has a bit of a soft spot for Voight," he added with a raised eyebrow.

Jay snorted at that absurdity. "OK, one, if there's any sweet spot, it's called professional courtesy and respect," he said. "Two, I'm don't think Voight even registers women that way anymore. And, three, I'm almost sure that the guy hasn't even rubbed one out in the shower since he lost his wife."

Will considered that. Opening and closing his mouth slightly in the consideration. And then shook his head. "OK, that explains a lot about the guy's demeanor. But that's just wrong."

"Or maybe he's the one who's got it right," Jay mumbled, gazing into the stupid plastic bag. He wasn't sure what to do with this junk food – literal junk food.

"You mean to tell me that if something happened to Erin you wouldn't so much as jerk-off for the rest of your life, let alone sleep with another woman?" Will put to him.

Jay pushed the couple chip bags around. Even the flavors looked like a ten-year-old boy picked them. There was no way the adults upstairs would want these things. "Don't talk like that," he muttered as he looked.

"You just talked like that. About Voight," Will said with some palpable disgust.

Jay glanced his way. "Will, we work jobs were we have guns pointed at us on a pretty fucking regular basis. I think about what would happen if something happened all the time. I don't need to think about it tonight," he told his brother bluntly and then pulled out a chunk of ginger root and held it at him, cocking his eyebrow.

Will shrugged. "Nina said he had nausea today. She was also the one who let me know that he's still on the medical trial and got a maintenance dose of chemo this week," he put back just as bluntly.

Jay gazed at him. "I thought you didn't like me talking to you about Ethan. That it borders on professional conflict and that you think my whole family situation is weird."

Will sighed and gazed up at the ceiling of the garage. He seemed to look at it for a long time. "You're happy, I'm happy," he finally allowed and brought his eyes back down, holding out the sagging gift bag. "Here."

"What's this?" Jay said, looking at it with some skepticism.

It was about the first time that Will hadn't given some commentary when he'd referred to Erin as his family. Or an outright fucking monologue when he suggested that Erin's family – even if the situation was strained right now – was now his family too. Because they were important to her, so they were important to him. And, really, it wasn't just that they were important to her anymore that made them important to him. Ethan had become important to him, period. He cared about him – he would care about him – exclusive of his relationship status with Erin. In a whole lot of ways, Erin's misfit family had become far more his family than his real family had ever felt. And definitely more real than they did now. And he was skeptical about Will not providing his two cents on that yet again.

"What's it look like?" Will said and shook the bag. Too much because the bottom did give out and a bottle of wine tumbling out and crashing to the concrete floor of the garage – shattering and spilling the alcohol and glass everywhere – three wrapped packages landing directly on top of the mess. "Shit," he swore.

They both crouched down to retrieve the parcels. Will sighed, shaking the box in his hand a bit. "It was a cheap bottle anyway," he muttered, "but I doubt the baby wants it's present smelling like cheap booze."

Jay grunted and took it as Will handed the gift to him. "It's OK. I'm pretty sure that the kid was conceived by parents who reeked of cheap booze."

"Ah …," Will acknowledged with a smirk, rising back up and giving a glance, clearly looking for a broom.

They didn't have one. So Jay gestured at the snow shovel. That they'd definitely been needing since about the day they moved in. But for all the talk of having two White Christmases back-to-back, the meteorologists had pretty much screwed up that forecast. Temperatures had gone right back up – finally giving them something that resembled an autumn – and lots of rain. All the snow they'd had had been washed away and now they were saying that it was going to be one of the warmest Christmases on record. But climate change didn't exist … apparently.

Will went over to get the shovel, as Jay examined the tags on the boxes. "You got the kids gifts?" he asked.

Will shrugged as he came back over and worked at scooping up the glass. The shovel only worked so well and Will was clearly trying to avoid stepping in the in the wine. Didn't want to smell like cheap booze himself apparently. Or stick to the floors.

"I was informed that Ethan is technically going to be my brother-in-law and that that somehow technically means the baby is my nephew-in-law, which I don't think is actually a thing, but Nina pretty convincing that it's a thing," Will said, raising an eyebrow at him and giving him a coy grin.

Jay just shook his head and looked back at the gifts. Because he really didn't want to know. At all. Heard way too much about those benefits of being in a relationship from Will's perspective as it was. More than he wanted to know.

He squinted as he looked at the third gift. "You got me something?" he asked.

"You can read," Will teased him, taking the shovel over to the trash can and shaking the contents into it. "Nina told me I should do that too."

"Oh, well that makes it real special now," Jay put back to him.

Will shrugged as he came back again, scraping the shovel across the concrete again. "Open it," he said.

Jay looked at him again and then gazed at the gift for a moment. "I didn't know we were exchanging gifts," he said. "I didn't get you anything."

Will only shrugged again. "Open it."

Jay gave an inner sigh but tucked the other two gifts under his arm and started to pick at the wrapping paper, pulling it away. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he spotted the latest NHL Xbox title. He let himself shoot his brother a grin.

"Remember Mom getting us that every year?" Will nodded at it.

"Hell, yeah," Jay smiled. "NHL from Mom and Madden from Gramps."

"Think we were the ultimate disappointment to him not getting into hockey or football," Will said.

Jay snorted. "Speak for yourself. I played sports."

"I played sports," Will contested.

Jay raised his eyebrow at him. "No, you participated in sports. Usually from the bench."

"Oh, fuck off," Will put back to him. "At least it was baseball and basketball."

"Both of which you were horrible at," Jay provided.

"Says the guy who played soccer and swam on the swim team? Those are sports?"

Jay just shook his head, knocking the box against his knuckles. He hadn't thought about these games in a long time. But they'd put in a lot of hours on those games. Probably some of the least violent games he'd partaken in as a kid. Not that hockey and football could really be classified as non-violent sports. Modern gladiators. And as much as he wasn't the body type to participate in them, he'd liked watching them with Gramps. He liked when Gramps came and got them and took them out to a game. Those afternoons away – in the winter months when he couldn't drag them up to the cabin – were among the better memories he had from his childhood. Some of the biggest real treats – a real activity – that they got growing up. At least ones that weren't an illusion.

He still watched the sports. The Hawks. The Bears. The Packers – for Gramps' sake. For old-time sake.

"Go ahead, rip the plastic off," Will said. "Let's play a match."

"Ah …," Jay sighed, glancing at the garage door back into the house. "We can't."

"What?" Will pressed. "Why? Nina granted me exclusive permission to sit down here with you if I got you a game or a movie."

Jay made a quietly amused sound at that. "I don't think Erin would be quite as supportive of that idea." He gestured at the door. "All the kids are watching TV and Eth doesn't know I have an Xbox."

Will squinted at him. "What's it matter?"

Jay made a sound. It'd mostly been because of a back-and-forth. The Xbox had come with the TV. So he'd really only had it a few weeks anyway. The original plan had been to kind of give it to Ethan, or at least have it at the house as a behavior motivator and homework motivator on the nights him and Erin had him. But then in trying to talk to Hank about accepting the thing, it'd come out that a bundled package had already been purchased during Black Friday sales and would be under the tree.

Erin hadn't exactly been impressed that it meant that the Xbox in the townhouse was his. And that it wouldn't likely just be being used when Eth was around. But neither of them were too interested in dismounting the TV and returning it to get a different one – or cheaper package that didn't include the Xbox – so it'd stayed. And Hank had decided it was great they had one – because apparently he felt it could be used as another intel device to track if Eth was logging on when he wasn't supposed to and playing games that his dad didn't approve of. Which was a pretty fucking long list of games.

"He'll be unwrapping one tomorrow," was all Jay said, though. "So seeing there's one already here tonight might take some of the bang out of that in the morning."

Will sighed and there was some actual disappointment on his face. Jay was about to offer him coming over sometime over the weekend or on their next shared night off to put in some hours on it, but the garage door opened. He was borderline expecting it to be Erin having to come to see what was taking him so damn long to let his brother into the house when he was supposed to be helping set up dinner. But it was Ethan and Jay quickly shoved the game into the back of his pants – getting it out of sight as best he could.

Eth gave him a pathetic look and his second glance at him, showed that it was likely rooted in the spittle liquid on the front of his shirt, which had a pretty unmistakable odor to it.

"I puked," Ethan told him with a touch of embarrassment. "Again. And I didn't get totally to the bathroom in time."

Jay gave him a little frown but nodded, squeezing his shoulder and giving it a little shake. "That's alright, Bud," he allowed. "Let's just get it – and you – cleaned up." But he saw the kid eyeing the two wrapped presents. "Oh," Jay allowed and pulled the one that had Ethan's name on it out from under his arm. "Will and Nina got you something. You can open it upstairs. If it's alright with your dad."

Jay handed it over to him and Ethan almost reluctantly took it, giving Will a look. The kid was so quiet and shy around Will. But Jay knew it was likely because he was a doctor who'd had to put him through some poking and prodding. Eth wasn't a huge fan of doctors, period. Not that Jay blamed him. Based on his personal familial experience.

"What do you say?" Jay put to him condescendingly but with a touch of seriousness to it.

Ethan gave Will another shy glance. "Thanks," he allowed almost too quietly. "But Dad usually only lets me open one present on Christmas Eve and it's always pajamas."

Jay made an amused sound at that and nudged the kid's shoulder again. "I'll talk to him," he said. "You should open it while Will and Nina are here. So you can give a real thank you, rather than whatever that was."

Eth looked up at him but then back down at the box, as Jay nudged him a bit out of the door. He gave it a little shake. "Is it Lego?" he asked.

Jay's eyes swung a little accusingly at Will with that. His mind spun quickly weighing if he'd even mentioned that him and Eth did the little monthly Lego set together. Weighing farther if he'd somehow mentioned what he'd got Eth.

"You like Lego?" Will put to him.

Eth squinted at him. "Who doesn't like Lego?"

"I don't know," Will said. "Maybe I thought you might be getting a little old for Lego."

Eth gave him another look. "No one is ever too old for Lego," he provided.

"Ah," Will nodded. "Well, it's not Lego. Sorry."

Ethan gave it another little shake as they stepped back into the lower-level family room. The kids were all spread out making the room feel a whole lot smaller than usual. Atwater was there for the moment – and likely for the free food – and had brought his younger brother and sister. Eva's older brother had arrived too at that point with pizza, and it looked like the kids had already worked at eating through most of the two pies and several plates of cookies and appetizers too.

That might explain something about the puking. Though, Jay hoped Ethan hadn't been stupid enough to go off reservation with his diet – and that his dad had been up and down the stairs enough he hadn't risked it either. It was likely still just the after affects of the cytoxan he'd been given the day before. The anti-nausea drugs only worked so well in Eth and they'd avoided giving him the full dose that afternoon anyway, or else he would've been knocked right out all night.

Jay went over and dropped the bag of chips and dip on the table, retrieving the egg rolls and handing them back to Will. There was no way they were going to take the time to warm up that sad little box of egg rolls when real food was getting set out upstairs.

"More junk," he informed the kids.

Avery took to that immediately, diving at the bag to check what was in it. "Sweet," he declared, pulling out a bag. "Loaded Potato Skins."

"That's disgusting," Eva said and leaned over to examine the second bag. "Hot Wings?" she said with the distaste dripping from her. "Have you heard of Sour Cream and Onion or Doritos?"

Jay shrugged. "Don't look at me," he provided and jutted his thumb at Will. "All him."

Eva pulled the jar of dip. "Creamy Spinach? On Ruffles?"

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers," Will said.

But Will shot him a look. Not the right kids to say that to. And should fucking know better to use that phrasing considering what their childhood had looked like too.

Avery at least seemed undisturbed by it, though. He already had the bag he'd claimed ripped open and was shoving the chips into his mouth. "Don't listen to her," he said between crunches. "You're having a tight party."

Jay made a quiet amused noise at that. He wasn't sure how exciting it was for any of the kids. But they seemed totally unfazed by it all. They'd watched Home Alone and had since moved on to Die Hard – the ultimate Christmas movie and likely the perfect '80s accompaniment to the '80s party food they'd just been handed. Their attention seemed to be shifting between the TV, their phones, and the food. Beyond when Hermann's kids were over and an additional five bodies had been added the basement, they'd been pretty quiet down there. Or the sounds of the adults upstairs were drowning them out. Either way, they seemed pretty comfortable and content.

"Just don't ruin dinner," Jay said, nudging Eth toward the stairs again. "Everything's just about ready."

"Yeah, Mr. Halstead," Eva's older brother, Isaiah, said leaning forward in his seat. "Really appreciate you all letting us chill here. Eat. But Gram's shift just finished so she should be bringing the car around soon. So we won't be crashing your party too much longer."

"We aren't done the movie!" Eva protested. About the close he'd heard to a whine out of the kid.

"Well, get done," Isaiah wagged the phone at her. "'Cuz she pulled out of the lot 'bout five minutes ago."

"Boo!" Avery said. Or he thought it was a boo. It was hard to tell with how many chips he had in his mouth. "Gram would never let us watch this at home. And your TV is sick. But you need a sound system."

"Thanks for noticing," Jay muttered. Very aware that he should likely at least invest in a sound bar for down there. But rather than go with the package that included that – or a surround sound system – he'd gotten the frickin' Xbox. Sure when he could sneak in some hours on it without Erin's glare or commentary – get to crack open NHL 17 – that he wouldn't be as pissed about that decision now. But right now, it meant that dealing with the sound set-up in his Man Cave was going to have to wait until some other things got paid down a bit. He just gave the kids a nod, though. "Tell your grandma to park and come in. Have a plate of food, let you guys finish the movie."

"Really?" Isaiah seemed to light up.

Jay shrugged. "Sure. Lots of food."

"Thank you!" he said genuinely and started to key something into his phone.

Jay nudged Eth again. "See, that's what a real thank you is supposed to sound like."

"I said, thank you," he protested and gave Will a look. "I'm sure it will be super cool when Dad lets me open it."

Jay just rolled his eyes. Really pushed the kid toward the stairs then. He stuck his head in the door of the bathroom as they went by. Eth had done a little more than miss the toilet. But at least it didn't look like he'd been sneaking the food down there. It seemed like it was mostly bile on the floor.

They'd barely even started up the stairs when Henry had spotted them. Apparently he'd freed himself from his Great-Aunt's grips for the moment. Or his level of energy had already exhausted her.

The little boy pounded on the baby gate. "My-eew! My-eew!" he called out at his uncle. He also apparently alerted Bear to the fact Ethan was headed up the stairs and the dog suddenly appeared, joining Henry in his pawing at the gate, giving a pathetic whimper.

Jay smiled down at Henry as he got to the top of the stairs and reached over to the gate to pick him up. "Your Uncle Magoo's coming upstairs for a sec. So your quasi-uncle Will is going to have to do," he said and handed him over to Will, who awkwardly took the kid – acting like he'd never held a toddler before. Henry stared at him with just as much speculation. A nice 'who the hell are you' rather than a 'Merry Christmas'.

"Dog's going to be down the stairs like a shot as soon as I get the gate open. Don't want him to send the kid flying," Jay provided and Will gave a nervous nod, trying to find a good way to grip the squirming kid.

"Bear, get back," Ethan ordered. But the dog just whimpered and pawed at the more vehemently.

Erin came over at that, and grabbed the dog's collar as Jay finished fiddling with the latch on the fucking gate. They definitely took a bit of getting used to to get them to snap in and out of place in any timely manner.

"Hey, Will," she smiled – actually smiled when earlier she'd looked like she might be pulling out her badge and slapping cuffs on anyone who came up those stairs. Jay supposed he'd felt about the same way for a bit. He actually had thought about doing more than snapping bracelets on anyone who was uninvited to this thing. But he'd calmed down a bit too. "Merry Christmas."

Will returned the smile. "Merry Christmas," he allowed.

And Jay supposed maybe it was. Or was shaping up to be. Because as chaotic and disorganized as this was, it didn't seem that bad. It didn't feel that bad. Actually, maybe it almost felt like Christmas. The kind he'd never really had before. And maybe the chaotic, disorganized kind that felt perfectly appropriate for who he and Erin were. For the kind of people, and couple, and family, and household they wanted to have.

Just like what Erin wanted. Their family would be the good, the bad, and the ugly. And they'd still excel in that. Maybe they should just add chaotic and disorganized to the mantra. And tight. Because Avery was right – this party, his unit, his family – they were definitely tight. Even in a shit storm.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.**


	45. It's A Wonderful Life

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

Erin allowed a small smile to slip out as she came down the steps. She'd sort of suspected that Hank and Ethan might've fallen asleep. But she should've known better. Hank didn't do a lot of sleeping.

Sometimes she wondered if he ever really slept. Part of her doubted he'd slept since he started the job. Not really. Rested his eyes, maybe. But not really slept.

He'd headed downstairs with Ethan – and Bear trailing after them - hours ago rather than take him upstairs and disturbing the attempts to get Henry to sleep through the night.

Eth's stomach had been wrecking havoc on him all day but it seemed to reach an intensity around 10 p.m. Too much food and too many treats and abnormalities in his diet in the wake of his chemo dose.

Eth had pressed through most of the day. But as soon as his friends and Atwater and his siblings had taken leave, he really hadn't had too many qualms about displaying to the remaining adults how shitty he was feeling. Though, they were mostly people he had a comfort level with. Al. Platt. Them. They were allowed to see him as sick. They knew he was sick.

He'd still played a little shy around Will and Nina. And Mouch. And Kim. But their presence hadn't stopped him from curling up on the couch.

He'd clearly wanted some comfort from his dad but at that point in the evening Hank had returned to grandpa duties while Olive drove her aunt home. The woman clearly hadn't really wanted to leave. But Erin didn't really want an extra house guest – especially of that variety. And she got the impression that Olive was about ready for a break from the woman too. And the education she'd been giving everyone who'd half-ways listen about the Wiccan origins of Christmas. She'd brought some sort of weird woven twigs and feathers and ribbon and gem stone thing for Henry. Erin wanted to say it was a dream-catcher. But somehow the star in it – which clearly wasn't the one leading the Wise Men to the manger – stopped the dreams that the gift was a dream-catcher. And even Olive hadn't seemed that comfortable with her aunt waving the thing around Henry, chanting … whatever it was she was chanting. Though, the show had at least got Al to offer up to drink up whatever it was that auntie was drinking. She had brought her own tea. And she would give that it had seemed to do something for Al's demeanor. And that said something.

But Olive herding her toward the door – after rather directly telling both her and Jay not to feel any sort of need to invite her back to the house for Christmas dinner the next day – that had said a lot too. Olive was always very appreciative of her aunt when she spoke of her. That she'd always been good to her. That she'd given her a place to stay. Somewhere relatively safe and sheltered when her parents and sister had been unwilling to do that. But she was honest in the fact that the woman "wasn't all there." And, in the month she'd been back to Chicago, Erin got the impression the visits had been scheduled and kept to a minimum. That her aunt was getting to see Henry, but she wasn't getting alone time with him. And she definitely wouldn't be the babysitting or daycare service when Olive started back at school and settled into a part-time job.

Erin had to admit she wasn't too sad to see the woman to go. Or to know that she didn't have to feel any twinge of guilt about rudeness or insensitivity in not inviting Olive's only family member in the city over on Christmas Day. But the woman had provided some cheap entertainment for the rest of their guests. Though, there'd been some raised eyebrows. And Erin got the sense that Hank hadn't just regulated the kids to the basement to keep them out from underfoot and away from the booze. It was to keep them away from the whack-job too.

With her gone then, though, he'd happily started doting on Henry again. Olive's aunt hadn't wanted to let go of him – no matter how much Henry wanted to explore and flirt with all the houseguests on his own. So it'd only been since her departure that Hank had managed to take the baby upstairs and get him changed and into his new Christmas pajamas.

It was funny that year. Erin wasn't sure if it had happened because Hank and Olive had both bought for the boys or if it'd been all Hank. But Henry and Ethan had both ended up opening two pairs of pajamas that night when Hank had handed the Christmas Eve parcels to the boys. Erin had made some passing comment about it. But Hank's rasped response had been along the lines that neither of the kids would make it through the night without having spoiled one pair. That he wanted Christmas morning photos that didn't include shit or vomit in them.

And she supposed he had a point. And even though she had wanted to tell him that that could've been solved by just not handing out the PJs until morning, she also knew that wouldn't fly. Because Ethan getting his new pair of sleep pants – it was tradition. Not getting to open that gift and put on those pajamas on Christmas Eve just wouldn't have gone unnoticed. And Erin was starting to accept – to realize – that the Christmas traditions that existed in their house – their family – the ones that had continued, that had lived on since Camille was gone and now with Justin gone, weren't just things that Ethan had latched on to. It wasn't just him pushing for him. The Christmas traditions that had continued on into her adult life – in those years of raising Ethan up from that little boy who'd lost his mom until now when they had another little boy who'd lost his dad – they were traditions that had been picked and chosen by Hank. They were the ones that he either felt were important – to continue for the child or for Camille or for himself or a bit of all three. They were the ones he could bare too.

New pajamas. And photos on Christmas morning in them. Sparkly, clean, and bright. Likely clutching at their stockings. It was just as important to Hank as it was to Ethan. And somehow that quiet realization – it setting in that night – made it more important to share with Henry. To get those photos. Those moments. Even though people were missing. The little boy … boys … at Christmas wouldn't be. Their family would still be there. What was left. And somehow, the ones that were missing. They'd get to live it – see it – too, through those photos. Those fucking awful shots that Hank took with absolutely zero photographic talent. So many that she doubted he even knew how to take off his phone or the digital camera that was buried somewhere in a drawer. Only the select few that she was sure he'd had to go into some dingy photo shop and talk down to some poor nerd to get the things printed off for him – only for him to throw in a box anyway. One of his many boxes of memories that he took out to look at – to unpack – in the moments he thought no one was looking.

And then out of those select few already he'd select those few more that would end up in frames. Set discretely in amongst all the photos that Camille had so studiously taken and framed and changed, placing them on their tables and shelves and cabinets. So many that had been putted away or shoved to the back, hidden amongst other knickknacks so Hank didn't have to gaze at them while others gazed at him. But they'd slowly been coming back to the forefront since Ethan had been home. Since that damaged little boy wanted a family – and now was committed to ensuring his nephew had one.

And that was something Hank had bought into. Was just as committed to.

Erin supposed they all were. It was something they could agree on. Even in this. Even now.

So Eth – despite clearly wanting to be the little boy and get his dad's attention and comfort in those evening hours, had let him be. He'd let Hank rock merry-and-bright, new sleeper-clad and drowsing grandson while chatted at O, who'd been abandoned by Michelle and Leo (and Lexi, who had decided an early Christmas text from her 'gap year' in Australia was really enough of a present and presence with her dad that year) while they made an appearance at his aunt's house.

The affects of Olive's aunt's tea had seemed to wear off at that point and the chardonnay he was sipping at while talking to Hank didn't seem to be doing much for his Christmas cheer. He'd been rather annoyedily waiting for Michelle to call. To get the word that he could go and get her and they could call it a night. Though, there'd been acknowledgement that this appearance at Leo's aunt's house likely had more to do with them getting time under the Mistletoe than playing nice with his just as fractured and fucked up family. Which didn't do any more for Al's holiday cheer. It just made him grouchier and more impatient dad.

But Eth had been happy to claim his Uncle Alvin in the second fiddle position. Because as clear as it was that both Henry and Ethan were ready for bed, neither of the boys wanted to go down. They didn't want to miss any of the excitement. Apparently like nephew, like uncle. Drowsing, cuddled up against the two adult men seemed to have been the compromise everyone had wordless settled on.

Burgess had still been there at that point – helping with clean up – from the sort of never-ending open house that really hadn't been that bad.

Maybe it'd been a nice distraction in the end. Better than her and Jay and Hank and Ethan and Olive and Henry and Olive's wonky aunt and Will and Nina all staring at each other and trying to make something that resembled comfortable conversation. It likely wouldn't have been that comfortable at all.

Not that having a house full of people for hours on end had been entirely comfortable either. But at least it had been lots to do and lots of people to talk to. Other things to talk about and think about than the morbidity that lay between her and Jay's family. The tension in her family and his.

Camille not being there. Justin not being there. Jay's mom not being there. Questions about why Jay and Will's dad wasn't there with them despite still being there in this life with all of them.

So maybe it was better. Maybe it was easier. Deal with other things. It seemed to be how any, and all of them, were dealing with any of it.

Kim had been staring at Hank and Al to the point that Platt had called her on it. But her eyes still stayed fixated on the couch with the boys from where she was helping her in the kitchen while the men folk drank and talked and didn't talk, which seemed to be pretty much how the two old timers operated.

Trudy's jab only prompted Kim to divert her eyes for a moment and offer a defensively passive comment how they almost looked like teddy bears. How looks could be deceiving. But Erin thought they all knew – the three women standing there doing very womanly kitchen duties when she didn't think either of them particularly did that on a regular basis – that even though Hank and Al definitely weren't teddy bears on the job. That seeing them in that moment – with the boys – wasn't an illusion.

They were kind men. They had soft spots. The cared. Home and work and persona. They needed to be separated into individual entities. They needed to relate to the environment and the moment. They could be ruthless. They could be cruel. But at home? To their children? No. Their humanity – their good – showed itself at work too. Just as much as their old timer personas did.

Still, after Platt and Mouch had taken leave , as Al finally got the text from Michelle (which he hated she did rather than call) and Henry got scooped away from Hank to be put to bed by Olive prompting him to truck his son who was wringing about an upset stomach to the TV room – Kim had followed up her teddy bear comment with some quiet commentary about how she was pretty sure Al didn't think she deserved to be in Intelligence and how he wasn't making it easy for her. That he'd outright called her a "badge bunny". That Platt had said that he suffered from '74 syndrome.

Erin thought the whole concept was kind of laughable. Al was about Hank's age. He would've only been in his teens back in '74. And, even if he'd started his career while women on the beat was still a bit of a novelty, it certainly wasn't an abnormality. He might've worked a lot of gigs that he predominantly worked with men. But that was being the police. He'd worked with women before. He knew that women in blue was just part of a reality of the job anymore – even if it wasn't exactly a job that reflected any sort of equality yet.

Al never came off as particularity sexist to Erin, though. But her experiences with Al, she acknowledged, were colored through knowing him as a teen. He'd been a person in her life as she grew up – both as a girl and on the job. He'd never treated her like a second-class citizen or a second-class cop. He expected as much for her as he did any other cop. That's how Al operated.

It would be how he'd operate with Kim too. And Kim was likely going to have to get used to it. As much as the guys respected her, rightly or wrongly, she'd gotten a bit of reputation attached to her. Unfortunately, it was the kind of reputation that lady cops seemed to be slagged with more than the garbage dicks that a lot of the men on the job could be – especially with their long hours and high stress and list of excuses that the could use to keep them away from their home and their wives and their families.

But even pulling the unfairness out of that out of it – whether or not any of the guys were right or wrong to be throwing that in Kim's face or tossing around terms like "badge bunny" – it really came down to making your mark. Everyone was going to look at you sideways until you earned your spot. And, Kim, with Al, it was going to be even more complicated. Because he'd trained Adam too. He'd picked him. Hand-picked him. Given him the call-up and then molded him into police. Into an undercover cop. Into someone who could work – who they could trust – on Intelligence. And he'd been there in life-and-death situations with Adam. They'd fired kill shots for each other. And they'd sat in cars and on-stake outs for long hours together. And whether Al supported or discouraged Adam's involvement with Kim – it was sort of a moot point. Because Adam had become his kid. His responsibility on the job. And a connection like that didn't just go away. You saw the shit the other person went through – good and bad. And whatever opinions you had about it, or advice you gave – you still had to slog through some of that personal with them, even when your relationship was professional. It was just another grey area of being the police.

The reality was that Kim was a personal that Al saw how it affected his guy. His kid. The one he brought up and developed. That he loved and hated. And he'd gone through periods of wanting to get rid of Adam too. Of thinking he wasn't fit for the job. That he hadn't earned. That he really wasn't ready. But now Adam's foot – and head - was at least partially out the door. And Kim was there. And she was sitting in his spot. She was in Al's hands. Now. Again. And he was having to train and groom the person who'd arguably triggered the decisions Adam was making in those weeks and months. Whatever those decisions were going to be.

It was a hard transition. When getting the call up was hard enough was it was.

Because with Intelligence – as a newbie, even as lady police - it wasn't just getting the call up. It was continually proving you deserved to be there. Even after you had proven that, you needed to keep pulling your weight. Keep demonstrating there was a reason you were there. That you weren't just a pretty face in the bullpen. You weren't just some mandatory diversity or equity call-up. That you were meant to be there. You deserved to be there for the right reasons.

Erin knew that was a never-ending endeavor. As a woman. In a gig like Intelligence. It wasn't something you could take for granted or slack off on. You could be sent back downstairs at anytime. Especially when Kim didn't have detective attached to her name yet.

It was a hard road. Erin knew that. She walked it too. She got the looks and comments when she got called up. She still did now. Because it was always just assumed – even from getting her admission papers to the Academy – that she was there because she was Voight's girl.

That she got into the Academy. That she got hired up into District after her training real quick. That she made detective while before hitting her 10 years – let alone while before even hitting thirty. That she landed in the prestigious Intelligence unit that had had been handed to Hank. That all of it was purely because she was Voight's girl.

And maybe there was truth to that. Maybe there was a lot of truth to that. That now – as an adult – she'd gotten opportunities that other people didn't. But she'd still paid her dues. In her childhood. She was still paying her dues now. Over and over. In ways she hadn't even thought about when she told the man who raised her that she wanted to be police too. That she wanted to make the city a better place too.

And now she'd always be Voight's girl. Her career would be made – and broken – on her association with him. And she'd still have to prove herself – not to him – but to everyone else in CPD and the city – that she was more than Voight's girl. Every fucking day.

But she'd brushed aside Kim's comments with lax assurances. Because it was Christmas. Because she didn't want to talk about Hank or Al or Adam or partners and who deserved to be there and who didn't and what it meant to be police in Chicago and how any and all of that worked as a woman. Because as much as she wanted distraction that night, those were not the kinds of distractions she wanted or needed.

So she'd just offered up her own quiet passing comment about Al treating Eth like a teddy bear – about Eth being so comfortable with him – was crouched in him being his godfather. Kim had startled a bit at that. She could tell she was trying to find something else to say while staring at them again. But it'd come out as a bad Godfather joke. One going back to neither of them being much of a teddy bear and looks being deceiving. Or not. But she'd shook her head and corrected herself, just offering up instead that sometimes she forgot how long Hank and Al had known each other. How long she'd been part of the family. Because even though it was on regular display – she didn't talk about it.

And maybe she didn't. Not enough. Not at work. Especially now.

And somehow giving that little piece of their private family life felt right. And it felt natural in that moment. It didn't feel like it needed to be hidden. Or that it was some big secret. That it just was what it was.

And maybe it felt that way – that night – because Ethan being baptized, Al being his godfather, it wasn't something that Hank would've likely felt one way or another about. But it was something that Camille felt one way or another about. It was something she wanted. Or wanted for her parents. Or maybe wanted for their family – for Ethan – for all their spiritual health and well-being and protection, after their years of trying for another baby. After years of not trying for a baby. After so many losses. So many miscarriages. After all their ups and downs and inbetweens.

Maybe it'd been away to say thank you to whatever there is beyond humanity – not that Erin got the sense that the job left Hank believing in or fearing a God anymore. But maybe it was some sort of foresight. A way to give Eth a family – to ensure there was family – above and beyond just them. To start those connections and relationships young. To make there be more than what was within the walls of their home and the confines of their fucked-up family existence. That hadn't been so fucked up then. But maybe Camille knew that someday, somehow, it would be. And Eth needed more – deserved more. So she'd pushed the baptism. She'd let Hank pick his godparents. And Al and Meredith had stood up there with the family as that squalling baby was anointed with the oil.

The chosen child? Or just christened the same as millions of others over the years.

But he was something – someone – Camille had given the family. Brought to them. Still now. This living, breathing memory of her.

And the memory of her stirred again – more – as she got to the bottom of the stairs and saw that Ethan was passed out against his dad on the couch. Bear curled up in a ball, wedged into cushion at their feet. And Hank – he was staring at It's A Wonderful Life with the volume turned so low she could still hardly hear it now in the same room.

He didn't shift his eyes to her. Though, she was sure he knew she'd come into the room. That was OK, though. Because she just stood there staring at the screen too. Watching the movie. Another Christmas Eve tradition. One that she wasn't aware of having lived on. Not one that had been passed down to Eth and ingrained into his psyche of what Christmas was supposed to look like. But casting her eyes to Hank – pulling them away from the film – she could see it wasn't one that had died. It'd just been one that he'd kept to himself.

It'd been one that he took part in – alone – after Eth was in bed. After he'd stuffed the stockings and put out the presents. But couldn't sleep. Couldn't even rest his eyes. So he'd done something that he'd done with his wife on Christmas Eves for years. Something done in the early hours, long after the kids were in bed, but one that Erin had caught glimpses of as a teen and young adult who didn't adhere to the "go to bed or Santa's not coming" mantra was well as her little brothers. That she was happy to kick around in the front room looking at the lights on the tree and the decorations and the music on the stereo – making up for the thirteen Christmases where she hadn't had any of that.

And at some point, Hank and Camille had gotten sick of waiting for her to go to bed – to give them their privacy. And they'd ended up on the couch in a pose not that different from the loving arm Hank had draped over his son in the low light coming off the television. And they'd watched It's A Wonderful Life.

And Erin suspected that somewhere, deep down they'd both actually believed that. Or maybe more that Camille picked that movie each and every year as a reminder. As a quiet reflection. Or a message to Hank. To them both that they touched lives. That their lives had meaning.

"Camille …," Erin finally said.

Hank did cast her a small look at that and gave a little grunt.

She eyed him. "You're thinking about her?"

"Every day," he put flatly.

She frowned. And as much as she hadn't intended to, she found herself going to where they were laying, and sinking down onto the rug, leaning against the couch. And she'd hardly settled onto the floor, before Hank's free arm draped across her front, reaching to her opposite ear and giving its lobe a gentle tug, before his hand fell into place and just gripped lightly at her shoulder as they both continued to stare at the end of the movie. Listening for those bells. Waiting for an angel to earn its wings. Wondering who it might be that time. If it could ever be someone in their house – in their family. Now that family was gone. Now that they were broken beyond broken.

Sitting in that position – in that half-disguised hug – from Hank that had been a staple of her teen's at the Voight's. Because she'd been so afraid to ask for comfort and affection from her adopted parents. From the people who took her in. Who were raising her. But especially from a man. And because space in the front room – in front of the TV – was at a premium. And space – time – with Daddy was in even greater demand. And she always deferred the couch space to Justin. And to Camille. And eventually to Ethan. So they could be with him. Near him. She took what she could get from her spot on the floor.

But in that spot – she always got something. That arm always ended up across her shoulders. Her ear lobe always got that tug as she sat down. And as Hank got up from having finished watched the game or the news or the grainy old war documentary, there was always that brief stoop before he rose where his lips pressed into the crown of her head. And somehow she hoped that that would happen that night when the movie finished – even though she hadn't so much as wanted him to look at her for months. It was different that night. It was Christmas that night. That morning.

In the movie, the bell finally ran. And George's daughter once again recalled the story that Erin had come to know by heart.

"An angel just earned its wings," she said softly.

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged, reaching for the remote to quiet the credits. "Think the Big Guy had some decent candidates up for consideration this year."

"So not Clarence this time?" she teased, straining her neck to look at him but really gazing at her sprawled brother.

"Biased," Hank said flatly, gripping at her shoulder as tightly as she could see he was holding Ethan's. "But can think of some of people deserving the call up."

She allowed a thin smile and shifted her eyes back to the coffee table in front of her. It was still cluttered with Risk. Will and Nina's gift to Ethan. Though, she suspected it was more of a gift to Jay.

There was a copy of the game at their grandfather's cabin. Ethan had spotted it when they were up in the summer and had wanted to play. But Erin had managed to dodge that bullet. Eth and a game with lots of little pieces that he'd want to sit just so? No thank you.

Apparently avoiding engaging in the game had been short-lived, though. Because now he had his own personal copy. And far better than the 1970's version of the game that had just been little squares and pyramids and pinwheels at the cabin. Now Eth had actually little soldiers and sentries and cavalry men and canons to play with. The perfect think for his OCD. And the completely imperfect gift for his unstable hands.

He'd been outright gleeful. Though, Jay and Will had both bemoaned how they'd destroyed the came by eliminating the little geometric shapes from their childhood. That whine-fest quickly got forgotten when Ethan had decided he wanted to start learning the game right then and there. Jay and Will were completely on-board, and apparently having a relationship with them obligated her and Nina to join too. Kim had ended up playing too, because apparently given the choice of a "friendly" boardgame or being stuck upstairs with the old folks had made picking Risk easy.

But a "friendly" boardgame it was not. Jay and Will clearly had firmly set strategies and traditions about the whole thing. She'd near had her head bitten off by Will when she'd claimed some territory with a name she couldn't even pronounce. And it seemed like his and Nina's relationship might be on the rocks when she apparently was discovered to be "one of those people" who's strategy was to occupy Australia. Not to mention that Ethan didn't want to listen to anyone's advice for his first time playing and after every battle, he took just as long to reset all his little figures in just the right place as he did to make a decision about how to move any of his troops on his turn.

For a game that took long enough to play, Erin was pretty sure the thing was going to take a life-time to get through. She'd pretty much purposely set up her troops to be decimated just to get out of playing. She got the sense that Kim had too since she'd appeared upstairs with an 'oh my god' look in her eyes what couldn't have been too many rounds after Erin had fallen on her sword. It'd been around that time that she'd nudged Hank toward maybe letting Ethan open his pajamas and get him off to bed and Will and Nina out of her house.

It'd only half-ways worked. Jay, Will and Nina had still stayed down playing the game for some time. Forcing her to give Jay a look and him telling his brother he could come back TOMORROW to finish the fucking game. Erin wasn't sure that was going to be allowed to happen. But she hadn't quite shared that with Jay yet.

Looking at the board she thought that Will and Jay might be a little a-gasp when they did return to the board. Things didn't look like they were in the exact same place they'd been left and she was pretty certain that between Ethan's ralphing she'd heard Hank talking war strategies with his son. Gazing at it, she was pretty sure it was now displaying some Battle of the Pacific. She thought it might be better if she just let Henry or Bear get near the board before Jay and Will saw what had actually happened to their never-ending stalemate.

She nudged at one of the little pieces, lining up elements for a bit of a Korean War. She could feel Hank watching her. But he made no comment. He likely didn't care. He wasn't much for boardgames. Cards, yes. But not boardgames. Though, he seemed to endure some with Ethan. Though, he endured a lot with Ethan.

It was funny. A strange dynamic. What he tolerated. Or made himself tolerate. And just things the two of them talked about.

Risk. Being used as an educational tool for World War Two? That seemed about right for Hank. She was sure he could lay out little scenarios from multiple wars and battles displayed on his fucking History channel. Though, Ethan seemed particularly taken with World War Two lately. Mostly because he seemed to think they'd be plunging into World War Three come January 20th. But also because Evan had recited something to him about their lovely president-elect being the next Hitler. That got compromised even more when he started watching some Man In The Castle alternative history thing at Evan's house and found out reality through fiction – that the Nazis had gassed and killed a whole lot of people. Including cripples and sick people – because they were a drain on the state. That all had lead to multiple discussions and multiple anxiety attacks.

Some how that'd calmed. Some how all of them had said enough that wasn't going to happen. And if something insane did happen that her, Hank, Jay – they wouldn't let anything happen to him. That they would protect him. That him and all his friends at RIC were going to be just fine. Or at least it'd calmed for now. Who knew how long it would last because the election had opened up a lot of old wounds – in the city, in the country. And lots of people were saying and doing things that seemed incomprehensible even when they lived and worked with the incomprehensible each day. They were just going to have to hope that the millions and millions of others would drown out the insanity of the few and rise above it – and protect the vulnerable. And fight for them. Just like she'd been taught to do. Just like she'd been doing so far with her life. As much as she could.

Hank had seemed to take a 'learn from our past' approach. And hadn't been skirting away from any of it. Not the war. Not Hitler. Not the Nazi. Not the Holocaust. Not the concentration camps. Or work camps. So he was letting Eth delve into this war stuff as much as he wanted. Her expressed concern about that had simply been met with an "at least he's reading" response. Which, she supposed was true. But she could think of other things for him to be reading. Like Harry Potter. Though, admittedly, since taking him to see Fantastic Beasts, he'd had a renewed interest there too. That also seemed to go back to Trump and injustices and insanity.

But maybe all her little brother knew – all he was growing up in – was different shades of insanity. Maybe all you can ever really know with a broken mind is the insane.

But that didn't seem much like Christmas either.

"Henry's fussing," she provided instead. "It sounds like Olive is up with him. We were going to bring down the presents. Set things out a bit."

Hank grunted and gripped at her shoulder again. "What's the time?" he asked, and she realized the squeeze and the question were because he hadn't wanted to move his arm to look at his own watch.

"Three-ish," she said.

He grunted again and felt him shift to gaze at Ethan's sleeping form. He hadn't stirred at all.

"Has he been asleep long?" she asked.

"Mmm … a while," he said. "Topped him off with the Zofran."

She nodded. That'd have him knocked out. Maybe for a long while. "You just going to let him sleep down here?"

She felt him give a slight shake of his head, even though she didn't strain her neck to look again. "Be easier if him and H are coming at things from the same direction in the morning."

"It is morning," she said.

He grunted but didn't say anymore. They both knew what he meant. And she knew what underplayed what he meant was that he wanted a picture of his youngest young and grandson both coming down the stairs together. He couldn't do that if one of them was passed out on the downstairs couch.

"If you aren't coming up, I at least need to know where you put your stocking," she said.

His thumb rubbed over her shoulder and grazed her bicep. "Thought I told you not to be going running out and getting anything for that."

She shrugged, his grip following along with it. "I might've had a couple things already," she said. Which wasn't an entire lie. She had. Jay had something too. She hadn't been sure what she was going to do with them. Because she hadn't been sure what Christmas was going to look like. But maybe after it became apparent they would be spending Christmas together – after she accepted that – then maybe she'd picked up a couple other small things to contribute. The usual Hank favorites that he never bought for himself – gross coffee, grosser salami. "I think Olive has a few small things for everyone too that she wants to add to the stuffing."

"She didn't need to go doing that," Hank said.

"She knows," Erin allowed.

He let out a slow sigh and she could feel him staring at Eth again. She did crane her neck that time to look at him.

For all the times that fall that Eth got so angry at his dad. For all the moments he pushed him away and argued with him. There were moments like this where he looked just so incredibly comfortable with him. Where it was hard to imagine there was a rift in their family. But at the same time she knew it was that rift that was also making her brother cling to Hank for dear life, even if he had moments where he was kicking and screaming while he was doing it.

There was no kicking or screaming now. He was so near lifeless that if she didn't know Hank must be feeling his heart and breathing against him, she'd likely be checking it herself. Clad in his new BB-8 sleep pants and a Star Wars t-shirt that looked like it was from the '70s. One that likely was meant to be worn as clothing but that Hank was probably happy was staying as sleepwear – for now.

He'd been so excited when he opened them. Far more excited than Erin had ever seen him get about his Christmas pajamas for years. And far more excited about them than the new pair of plaid, flannels that had been in the box too. The change of wardrobe for the expected vomit that was likely land on the Star Wars attire between now and stockings.

She shifted in Hank's grip a bit and he seemed to reluctantly let her. She only turned slightly. So she could look at him. So she could lay her own hand against her little brother.

"He really likes these," she said, giving Eth's pant leg a little tug. Bear lifted his head and nuzzled her hand, almost warning her not to disturb his people. Hank just allowed a grunt. An acknowledgement. "I know some of this stuff his hard," she tried again. To find words. To figure out what she wanted to say. "Things he likes. His interests."

Hank only shrugged again at that, moving is hand against Ethan to smooth at his hair. They'd been told that the dose this time was so small that he likely wouldn't lose any more hair. But they'd been told that last time too and he had. And it'd never grown back the same way. It didn't look quite like Camille's anymore. At all. And Erin knew – even if he wasn't saying it – Hank was watching for more of those wisps to come out and leave bigger bald spots and tuffs on his boy's head.

"He's my kid," he finally put flatly. "Put up with things, do things – for your child – that you'd never consider, never could stomach with anyone else."

She gazed at Hank. She knew they weren't talking about Ethan then. And as much as they were talking about Justin, they weren't. It was a statement meant for her. A request. A plea. A need – for forgiveness and understanding.

She sighed and pawed a bit at Ethan's back too, adjusting the material on the shirt. It was damp and she knew his temperature must've been spiking in the wake of the chemo. That he might have a fever. Or he'd at least had a night sweat. And Hank was playing human thermometer under his son's dead-weight.

"E stuffed my stocking already," Hank allowed quietly. "Guess he was worried the elves were only going to bring me coal this year."

Her eyes moved back to his. The sadness there was real. And it was layered. She tugged at the hem of Eth's shirt more.

"You know how you tell him, he's one of your favorite people—"

"Not the only one I tell that," Hank interpreted. "Got some others on that list."

She allowed him a thin smile. A sad one. But some how it didn't make her cringe. It didn't sound like it was full of lies. From past and present.

"He's one of my favorite people too."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted and swiped more at his son's hair. "Good one. A keeper."

She smiled a little bit more. At Ethan. But she made herself go back to look at Hank. "I wanted you to know … that Camille … she'd be proud of how you're raising him. Of the things you do for him. For the family."

He grunted. "Think she'd know I try."

"You more than try," Erin allowed and gave her head a little shake. "You're doing it. It's A Wonderful Life. You're giving us that. Even when you're not. Domino effect."

"Butterfly wings …" he said a little flippantly, like he hadn't quite believed her. Or hadn't quite been able to hear it. Not yet. Because maybe they weren't ready for that yet too. But the bell had rung.

So "Angel's wings," she corrected.

He let out an amused sound but reached and gripped at her shoulder again, as she settled back into her teenager position against the couch – in his awkward embrace. Trying to be near him and not quite knowing how. But his head tilted down, his chin bumping against the top of her head until there was that all too brief press of his lips lightly in her crown before he fell back away from her, but still held her tight.

"You're a keeper too, Kiddo," he said.

And she let herself nod – to try to stop the glassiness welling in her eyes. Cause and effect. As full of opportunities and possibilities and hope – and wonderful as it was. Sometimes life – it didn't feel so wonderful. It was pain and it was struggle and it was suffering. But maybe, like in the movies, they'd eventually hear that bell ring. And maybe some day, some of them – one of them – they'd get their wings.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Reviews and feedback are appreciated.**

 **If I continue to write, I might jump ahead to after Christmas.**


	46. Puzzle Pieces

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

E groaned as he finally let his eyes flutter open, stretching his arms above his head to just prolong the level of his displeasure coming out of his mouth.

"Henry is being so loud," he grumbled.

Hank allowed a quiet amused noise at that. He actually thought Olive had been doing a pretty good job at keeping the toddler pretty quiet. Though, H had clearly been up for about 40 minutes at that point. Hank had heard his cry out when he woke and his fussing wanting out of the play pen and likely needing a damp diaper changed out. Likely hungry too.

Had heard Olive moving around and talking quietly to his grandson. Wishing him a Merry Christmas and telling him everyone was still sleeping and they should likely let them sleep a bit more. H hadn't seemed too interested in listening to that part of it. Though, Hank could hear him babbling back at her a bit. Kid was getting quite the vocabulary. Reminded him a bit of E that way. E had been an early talker too and real good with the language skills. Thing was expect for that about year around when he'd hit his head, really hadn't ever been able to get the kid to shut up since. Hank imagined, though, that Olive liked that her boy was talking. Likely needed that. Henry did too. A whole lot easier for them to communicate and bond and work through all the stuff they needed to work through when he at least form some words. When they could talk. Even if it was baby talk. Sometimes baby talk sure counted for a lot. So did little kid talk. And even fucking teenager talk. Sure kept you moving forward, distracted and dealing with the shit at hand. And just bonding with your child.

Hank had thought about getting up and offering to get a bottle going for the kid. Grab some apple sauce or berries or those bananas that J had fucking claimed his boy had hated but H sure seemed to suck back whole these days. Suck back even better when E did him up a smoothie. Halstead had even mentioned in their version of passing-dismissive small talk that he'd shared some sort of protein green smoothie thing with H one afternoon when Erin had had his grandson. Halstead gets back from the gym and apparently H was pretty interested in his carb and protein reload. Kinda funny. Though at the time he'd barely grunted at Jay's story. Because that was pretty much how they communicated. Short and simple.

Before he could get to venturing out the door, though, Olive must've plopped him back in the play pen and had gone downstairs herself. Hank doubted that H really would've registered too much that Christmas had arrived in the living room – though, maybe, he was a pretty aware little guy and so fucking busy, likely would've gone charging straight for where he'd last seen his toys and realized there was a bunch of new shit all over the place. But either way, Olive hadn't taken him down with her. Apparently was saving that Christmas moment for all of them. H had sure fucking been pretty pissed off at that, though. Bigger hollering fuss going on. Hank was pretty sure that E had woken up at that point but opted to keep his eyes closed. Didn't know how Erin and Jay slept through it. But they'd likely choose to ignore it too until they got the signal that the kids were really ready to head downstairs and start the day.

Olive had made quick work of whatever she'd grabbed for the baby. Back up and shushing him in short order. He'd shut up quickly enough so must've liked whatever Mom had offered him. The quiet had only lasted so long, though. Hank could hear his grandbaby's feet pattering around across the hall and him dropping stuff on the floor – whatever toys Olive had dragged up there for him to keep him entertained and distracted. Good room for it, though.

That room across the hall – it'd be a good one for if … when … Erin and Jay started in with the grandkids too. Knew that they'd picked a three bedroom so if they ended up with more than one kid, they could have their own rooms. But really, that room across the hall – big enough to be a fucking bowling alley. Took up the whole depth of the house and half the width. Easily could put two kids in that room. Fuck, they could likely put up a half-wall or something if – or when – the little fuckers started wringing about wanting their own space. Reality was the room was big enough they could probably put a whole fucking barracks in there. Start some sort of dorm hall. But didn't get the impression they had the plans of that many kids in their future. Not at their ages. Not with their upbringings. Not with their jobs. Suspected they'd likely end up trying again eventually. Get their one and then maybe try to round out their family with two. But, knew too well that life had its own plans a lot of the time. You never fucking know and you only had so much control over any of it in the end.

Could see why E loved that room, though. Loath to even give it up for a night to Olive and the baby. Likely get even more bent out of shape if Erin and Jay ended up having a kid before he finished up high school and thought the place was his second bedroom and alternative residence. Would admit, though, that the space was way, way bigger than the room he had at home. Was still bigger than the floorspace he'd get if he ever did decide he wanted to move across the hall to Erin's old bedroom. Figured that the room they were camped out in right now would be a decent size for a nursery or toddler room. But as soon as they wanted some space to store toys and to send any kids off to play in, imagined a room flip would be going on. Where they were would end up being the guest room – or something even more generic. Room across the hall – it'd be his future grandbabies. Assuming they decided to stick it out in the townhouse. Though, got the impression they were getting settled.

Day before … night before, Christmas Eve … been about the most amount of time that he'd been allowed to spend in the place in one good. But could really see that they were getting it set up the way they wanted at that point. It felt like them. Could see his girl in it. Could see Halstead's spaces and places too. Could see some of the spots that he'd likely just stepped out of the way and let his future wife do whatever the fuck she wanted – because, happy wife, happy life. Sometimes it wasn't just worth getting in a pissing match about keeping some of your shit or having it up on the walls. Or about anything else for that matter. Had to pick your battles and make your compromises. Part of marriage. Part of respect for your life partner.

Biggest part, though – most important part – was that could tell a young couple lived there. See that they were figuring shit out and working it out. Not just in the decorating and the sparse furnishings. The new shit they'd clearly dropped some cash on and some old fucking crap that they really should consider upgrading and replacing for their new house and the start of their life – their family – together. But he'd let him figure that out and work it out on their own. New with young couples – young cops – pay checks only went so far. There'd be picking and choosing about where and how to spend their money. Give it time.

Could do with a bit more seating, though. And tableware. That'd been fucking apparent at the little open house they'd managed to open the door for. But just another reminder they were still young people. Still starting out and getting it sorted. First go-around at that sort of thing.

Lack of seating space and plates weren't bad things at a fucking unintended open house either. Kept the resolving door going. People moving – and moving back out the door before over-staying their welcome, which wasn't too welcome in the first place. Most of the people who'd dropped by had been good about it. Had been a few stragglers who'd missed some of the cues and likely stayed a bit longer than they should've of. But Erin had seemed to settle into having the unexpected company after she opened herself up to it and realized things weren't going completely off the rails. That they'd manage it. Really, it likely could've let it go a little off the rails. But he'd seen it coming and done enough to ensure he had some shit going on the backburner to keep her from doing a spectacular faceplant. Fucking banana peel splat. Didn't need that on Christmas. Especially with all the other stress and emotions the lot of them would have going on.

So even the stragglers hadn't seemed to irritate her that much. And really after about the initial three hours or so of bursting at the seams, resolving door chaos, it'd pretty much settled down to the anticipated – and intended invitees. It'd worked out fine as far as Voight was concerned. Hadn't been an awful evening. Still got time with his son and his grandson. Maybe hadn't gotten as much face time with his daughter or his daughter-in-law as he might've liked, but also wasn't sure they wanted to be staring him in the face that much either. The open house and the people had given them all some distraction. Sometimes focusing on other shit is just what you needed to do to get through. Wouldn't say that was a bad thing.

Been a long night, though. E'd definitely been struggling all day. Been visible from when he got up in the morning. Hell, been visible from not more than 45 minutes after they'd put the IV in his arm on Friday. Kid just nodded right out and been a fucking zombie. Eventually settled into a fucking zombie when the anti-nausea crap they'd pumped him full of had worn off. Left him a grouch by Christmas Eve day morning. Didn't much blame him. He'd likely be a bit of a beast if he had to go through some of the shit his boy did.

Had been reluctant to drop him off at Erin's. Really had sort of thought that just letting his boy try to sleep it off for the day – and be near his own can and puke bowl in the process – likely was the best course of action. But E had wanted the day with his friends. And kid had powered through. Had managed to put on a decent face for most of it. Though, definitely looked a little sour. And there'd still been vomiting – because the stubborn little fuck didn't want to down more anti-nausea meds since that'd just knock him out again. Didn't want to miss a thing. That was E.

Still, as the evening winded down, could see him struggling. With E that was him getting sucky. The little boy came out. Wanted his hugs. His comfort. Really came down to him just searching up for someone to try to make it better for him. Unfortunately, none of them had that magic wand. Hank really wished he did. Didn't, though. Been a hard fucking pill to swallow. Maybe it was part of the reason he charged head-long into trying to fix things for his adult children. Maybe somehow their shit seemed more fucking fixable than the health of his youngest. Not that that had worked out to well either. Not with Erin and sure as fuck not with Justin. So sometimes the most any of them could manage was to just try to give E their strength. To let him be that little boy when he needed to be. Give him some space to be sucky and to give him the hugs. To not make him feel weak needing that. To normalize it. To encourage him to ask for help and to tell them when he was hurting. To carry the load as much as they could. As he'd let them. To give him a hand up in the ways they could. While they could. Because he wouldn't always be a boy. Already a teenager. Be a man soon enough.

Been funny the night before. Laying down an staring at Halstead's monstrosity of a TV. Watching the old black and whites. The real classic Christmas flicks. Ones from before his time, but the ones he'd grown up with. The ones Cami wanted to watch. Liked watching. Thinking about her. Trying not to think too much about what'd she'd think about what had come of their family. About him losing their son. About what he'd done. Trying to get himself to believe that somewhere, somehow that maybe some part of his wife and his oldest boy were together. Not alone and taking care of each other. So rather than dwelling too much on any of that he'd let himself drift into focusing his thoughts on his remaining son. The one he had there with him.

Had gotten on his usual track, though, about E being such and Mama's Boy. That he'd been Camille's baby. How much he made her glow again when he arrived. From the fucking moment they knew he was on the way. Glow in a way she hadn't for a long-time. Somewhere in that, though, he'd realized that they'd be coming up on the mark where Camille would've been gone for half of E's life. That not long after that, she would've been missing from his life for longer than she'd been in it. That that would be true for H and his father all too soon too.

But with E … it was … a strange realization. He knew he'd always think of Magoo as Cami's baby in some ways. As a Mama's Boy. But the fucking reality was that he was just a little boy when he lost his mom. His memories of her from that early in his childhood would've been fragmented at best even if he hadn't had his brains scrambled. With them scrambled … E's memories of his mom were all these strange little snippets. Some of them felt like he was talking about dreams or hallucinations more than anything Hank could pull out of his own memory of reality. Other bits and pieces Magoo spouted off were stories that him and Erin and J had shared with him on repeat in their efforts to rebuilt his life and their family and his memory. This fucking dispora they created for him. Indoctrined him with. To try to give him something. An identity. An idea of where he came from. A piece of his mom.

Reality was, though, that the boy who opened his eyes in that hospital and they eventually got to bring home – he wasn't Camille's baby anymore. It was a different kid. It'd been a complicated grieving process. Losing a kid while still having him physically there. It wasn't one that Hank had fully dealt with. He hadn't fully grieved that little boy he lost because he still had constant reminders of what had happened as he watched the little boy he had struggle so much. All the challenges he had to surmount.

Ethan. The boy he had at home – his son – he wasn't Camille's baby. Ethan was his boy. His kid. In this completely different and so incredibly strange way than Justin or Erin had been. His relationship with E was just different. What and who he had to be with E was just different. But he'd realized Camille would be jealous. So fucking jealous. That he was getting to know that boy – shape that boy, watch him become a man, mould him. Even if it wasn't the little boy she'd known. She'd want to know the Ethan he had now. That they had now. And he knew she'd have liked him - loved him – too. Even if he was a Daddy's Boy, not a Mama's.

And maybe having a Daddy's Boy wasn't such a bad thing. Different than he'd had with J. Real fucking different. And even as E settled into his teen-aged rages at him. Even though he got the fits and the tantrums and the moodiness and the misbehavior and the talk-back and the pushing boundaries and limits. The smart-mouth and smarth-ass. He knew – just knew – that no matter what buttons E was pushing, he wasn't going to do tough love with this kid. He just wouldn't work. It hadn't worked with the other ones. And how the fuck do oyu play bad cop with a sick kid when you're a single parent and he needs you to be the center of his universe? You need to be his fucking champion. Not the villain he's scared of. You need him to come to you. To talk to you. To ask for help. To know you had his back through the good, bad, and ugly. And saying it – it wasn't enough. He needed to see it. To feel it. And he hadn't let J see it or feel it enough and now they were all paying for that. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Not with E. Because he was his baby – as much, maybe more anymore – as Camille's. He was what had left. One of the remaining pieces. Of the pieces he was still trying to piece back together.

So he'd done the best he could that day with his boy. Hadn't been the bad guy. Tried to give him what he needed. Just like he tried as much as he could most nights – the ones he wasn't getting called out the door to deal with something else. No calls that night, though. Signed himself right out that year. Booked himself right off. Because the next few days – more – he needed to be there for his family. What was left of it. Needed to try to help them all hold it together. To give them the support. Needed that himself too. And he'd allowed himself some of that quiet acknowledgement too.

So he'd sat on the couch with his kid. He'd stared at the TV with him. Had listened to his intermitten babbling at him and the mutt. Hadn't really participated – because he recognized what a lot of it was … Magoo just flapping his lips. And that was OK. Let the kid talk. He'd listen. Hadn't been a lot of talking anyway. His kid had been tired. Because there'd been vomiting. And part of his night had been cleaning up that. Dealing with it. And convincing his boy – now that the company was gone – to take the nausea meds and knock himself out. Sleep some. Rest some. So hopefully he'd have a decent Christmas Day.

Had eventually moved his boy up to that room – to the air mattress. Had shown how tired and out of it E really was at that point, because there hadn't been any commentary about him being regulated to that air mattress. Kid had just curled right in under the covers and drifted back off. Left him to go back downstairs and help out with the morning set-up.

It'd been strange. Jarring in a way. Not just because it was the first time in some twenty-five Christmases that he was setting up for the morning in a front room that wasn't his own – his wife's. But because he'd really been regulated to a helping out role. Not helping out Camille with getting the shampoo and the socks and the underoos and the orange and the chocolate jammed into the stockings. Really just staying out of the way until he was told where things could go and how people wanted them to look. What Erin felt would be the best set-up for her living room. How Olive wanted Henry's Santa haul set about.

Had taken a whole lot of steps back. Needed to recognize that even though he still had a kid growing up at home, that that kid was a teen now. Christmas magic wasn't really a thing anymore with a kid Eth's age. Might still have some hopes and expectations at Christmas. But not the same excitement – not the buy in – as they did when they were little. So, Hank had needed to step back. To let the hosts play host. Recognize it was their house. And to recognize that Erin – Jay, Olive – they were graduating into being the guardians of the holiday now. They'd be deciding what old traditions to keep. They'd be intermingling their own from their youth into the family. And they'd be figuring out what they wanted to do for their families – and for the little one they had there now and hopefully another little one or two that would be on the scene in the coming years.

Christmas wasn't his anymore. Didn't need to hold that torch or carry that burden. Not anymore. Not on his own. New guardians to the tradition. But even with accepting that and coaching himself to give up the control - to keep the peace and the boat stable on and course with the women folk in his life – it'd still be a little hard to move over to the sidelines.

Made the changes and the people missing a little jarring too. Could see that Olive was feeling it too. Had set up with setting up H's little corner of goodie. Had given him some instruction on where he could help. Had talked to him a bit. But could tell her was hurting. Could feel it. And knew she'd be feeling it all day. They all would.

Some how even before letting the boys dive into the presents, the search the adults in the room were going for in terms of distraction were already apparent. Eth's stocking was overflowing. Not everything could fit in. A lot of the adults weren't that far behind by the looks of it. And Olive hadn't wanted to wrap a couple of Henry's Santa present since she wasn't too sure how he'd take to the whole unwrapping thing. So he had quite the mountain over in his zone in the front room too.

Felt a little funny. A little off. Hank had seen enough of the stuff that he knew that it wasn't that the items with the stockings were that overly extravagant. It was just another reminder that he had … had … adult children now who were contributing. Wanted to contribute. Even his youngest had. When you got into that many people handing you shit for the socks, it just wasn't all going to make it inside.

Funny too in that him and Cami had implemented those stockings all those years ago as a way to keep Christmas economical and practical. Couldn't afford to have a mountain of presents under the tree. Maybe they were always a little too practical with how they spent their money and what they bought the kids. Stockings had always just been meant to give the kiddos something a little extra on Christmas morning. Nothing fancy either. Despite how they'd evolved over the years and become a little fancier than the food treats and bubble bath and underoos they'd started out as. Still. But he supposed in starting that stocking tradition decades ago had never really thought much about how it'd play out when the kids were adults. How'd it'd all work.

Not much point in getting into it or worrying about it this year. Stockings were hung now. But if their family was still working at being a family next Christmas – still wanting to spend Christmas morning and doing stockings together – thought they were going to have to come to some sort of agreement about how they were going to manage them. Didn't want them to reach the point of being ridiculous. Kind of thought they might be there that year. But knew they were all just trying to fill voids and distract themselves and keep certain people in the room from hurting whatever way they could. Not that material objects really did any of that. Never could and never would.

Might have draw names or something next year. Or maybe socks and shampoo would have to fall to the wayside. Too bad. Because those things took up a whole lot of space real easy.

Had intended to just go back down to the couch after they got all that sorted. But had popped up to check on Magoo. Kid seemed to be in quite the fever-ish state. Night sweat. Mumbling at him. Ended up laying down with him for a bit. Just keeping an eye.

Supposed maybe he'd drowsed some but hadn't really slept. His brain just didn't want to turn off much these days.

Funny, though, that Magoo was complaining about Henry making all that noise now. Had heard Bear start with the whimpering at the fence down at the lower level long ago. Wanting up with everyone else. Or more likely wanting up onto the main floor so he could rip through all the Christmas morning offerings before the humans did.

Hank didn't much know how anyone was sleeping through any of it. Though, he doubted Olive had done a whole lot of sleeping across the hall either. Had been pretty sure he'd heard the telltale sniffles of some tears through the dark. And, his girl and Jay. Maybe the extra flight of stairs was blocking out some of the surplus clatter. But thought it was just more likely that seeing as none of the adults had really bunked down until pushing 4 a.m. – they fully intended to stay in bed until they were summoned. Looked like they were probably reaching that point, though.

"Merry Christmas," he rasped as his wringing son.

Ethan stretched more and groaned even louder before letting his arms come down. "Merry Christmas," he grumbled and rolled onto his side, gazing at him. Didn't sound that sincere or anywhere near excited yet. Teenager and weight of the day. "What time is it?"

"'Bout 7:30," Hank provided. "Think your mutt wants out for his piss and his breakfast."

Ethan groaned again and squished his face against the air mattress, pressing his eyes shut. Hank reached out and pressed some of his boy's sweaty, matted bed-head away from his forehead, feeling at it.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Gross," E mumbled. "And my mouth tastes grosser."

Hank grunted. Knew that the chemo dose had done that to him last time. Metallic taste that he seemed to complain about for weeks even after they finished the treatment. And seemed like it'd forever changed the kid's taste buds for some things. Add in the amount of vomit that the kid had had moving through his mouth the night before. Bound to be nasty.

"Should likely hop in the shower quick before we rock and roll. Give your teeth a brush," he told his boy. Just got another groan at that. "Pretty feverish last night, Magoo. Your clothes are all damp."

"I know," he muttered. "They feel gross and I feel cold."

"Mmm …," Hank acknowledged, testing his hands against his boy's cheeks then. Felt a lot cooler than he had earlier. But looked pretty washed out. "More reason to grab a shower. Get changed."

E's eyes fluttered back open and he gazed at him. "Are Erin and Jay up yet?"

Hank shook his head. Hadn't heard any movement above them for a while. But would say that the townhouse had much better soundproofing than what he'd grown accustom to at home. And hadn't had enough time in the place to really attune himself to all the creaks and sounds in the place. Still, figured he should've at least heard the can flush if they were on the move and hadn't heard that either.

"Listen, E, just want to review a few things about today with you again," Hank said.

Ethan let out another groan. "I know. Erin and Jay are hosts and it means things are going to be different. Like I'm sleeping on an air mattress."

Hank allowed a thin smile at that. "Thinkin' more that I wanted to remind you to listen to your body and take breaks," he told him, tilting his boy's head a bit to make sure they caught eyes. "And, you feeling down or struggling today, tell me. We'll take some time out together. Chat."

Might do that. Might end up having to take the boy home. Supposed it really depended on how all this played out. Right now, wasn't looking so good. Imagined it was only going to get harder after they got down there in the living room and the reality of the absences and the changes really set in more. Wouldn't say it ever got easier in Hank's experience. Sure hadn't in six years. Might've done some Christmases without his oldest boy home. But this was different. This was for eternity. No way around that. Wouldn't be no call to the jail house or drive up to lock-up to check in on him and to try to make the day a bit easier for everyone. Seemed to make it just harder on everyone anyway. Now there'd never be any reprieve.

"I know …," Magoo agreed quietly, his eyes flickering at the implication. His brother's absence.

The whole lot of things that the whole lot of them might be feeling. But didn't really know how much Olive would be wanting to talk about any of it. Knew Erin didn't like talking about any of it with him. And even though Hank wasn't that interested in hashing out all his emotions about the loss of his child – on top of the loss of his wife – that he'd set that aside, lay it out, for his youngest. If he needed him. Needed a sounding board. Needed to be told it was OK to feel those things. And OK to cry that. OK for those eyes to be welling. Knew he'd likely have more than a few moments that he even wanted to admit where he'd be doing his damnedest to hide it was happening too.

Hank stroked at his boy's tuff mess of a head of hair. Tried to change the topic. Focus on other things. More fucking trivial things. "Need you to remember too that you wanted your quarterly clothing budget spent and under the tree. So a few more gifts than usual this year."

"I know …" E said even more quietly. This time sounded sort of defeated. Imagined there might be a lot of that that day too. Really was most days anymore. Life had done a good job at kicking his kid in the gut and he hadn't even reached high school yet.

"So you're going to need to try on that stuff," Hank reminded him more firmly. "No arguments about it. Not going to do battle. If something don't fit – it's getting exchanged. You'll be coming to the store so we can fit you into the right size."

"I know …," E sighed.

"And if you don't like something, you need to speak up so we can get it sorted too."

That got a slower sigh. "I know, Dad. We've talked about that like six billion times too."

He made another little noise at that too. Wouldn't say it was quite that much. But definitely had been an ongoing conversation. Supposed splitting up the cash between everyone and asking them to pick something was sort of easier on him. But didn't know it was any easier on Erin or Jay or Olive. Had sort of hoped that as young people they might still know what young people wanted to wear. But still halfways expected that it wouldn't be what E thought he should be wearing. Would have to see. Did know that Eth hated shopping, though. And Hank didn't much like taking him out either and Erin really didn't appreciate getting delegated that task all on her own. Was a real pain in the ass.

Didn't think E needed too much in the way of winter gear anyway. Between being in a uniform five days a week and still not having hit his growth spurt, most of the investment in trying to keep him warm and insulated last winter still fit. But kid wanted some new threads. So get him a bit of something. Hopefully it worked out so it wasn't more of a headache than it already had been or that it seemed to be every time the kid needed clothes.

"For how much you always say you don't like repeating yourself you just keep repeating yourself," his boy added in a lip.

Hank pushed up on his forehead at that until he caught his kid's eyes firmly again. Really looked into them. Hard to do that that morning. Still was hard any day. But that day. Cami's eyes right there. Measuring his every move as a father. Somewhere in there too, there was always a commentary. Not his boy's teenaged attitude. Some part of his wife's soul lived in there. Constantly reminding him about his duties and responsibilities. About the man he could be and should be – at home, with his kids, with his family.

"And we talked about this too," Hank put to E again. "I'm your father. Don't matter how much you're hurting, Ethan. You're going to talk to me and treat me like your father. Not going to do this lip and attitude thing. Especially not today."

E sighed at him again and shook his head to get away from the grip. "I just don't feel well," the kid muttered.

Hank gazed at him. Kid was curled up on himself. Fetal position. And as much as he knew there was truth to that statement, he also knew that a lot of what was going on what Magoo just not wanting to face the day. But also knew the kid wasn't alone in that. There was a reason they were creeping toward 8 a.m. on Christmas morning and no one was out of their bedrooms yet. Knew it wasn't just that it'd been a late night.

"If you aren't feeling up to doing Christmas yet, maybe you should get a bit more shut-eye," Hank offered, though. And his kid blinked at him with some surprise. So Hank gave him a little nod. "But I'm going to go down and let the dog out. And going to tell Olive she can take Henry down so he's not up here waking up the house."

Eth sighed more at the implication of that. Because Hank knew as much as E didn't want to face the day, his boy did want to get to see Henry face the day. Wanted to be there for his nephew. Wanted to get to see the little boy interact with his new toys. Likely wanted to play with some of them himself.

"Need to remember who's the little guy this year," Hank reminded him again. "Your role and responsibility in that."

"I know," Ethan said. There was more serious acknowledgement in that one. None of the tone or lip.

E inched toward him and dropped his head heavily against his shoulder. Still some head coming off it.

"Is Will coming over?" he asked.

Hank grunted. "Think so. But think the plan was they were going to come by closer to feeding time." E made a little noise at that. "Why?"

"He's a doctor," Ethan provided.

"You feeling like we need to get you in front of a doc?" he asked, reaching to really check his boy's forehead again. Starting to think the better course of action would be to get up and get the thermometer.

Kid just shrugged at the suggestion. "Nina is coming too?"

"Assume so," Hank allowed flatly.

"She seems sorta nice," Eth said quietly. Hank just grunted. Did seem like a nice enough girl. A little quirky but people in her line of work usually were. A special breed. "She knows about neat science stuff and biology and microscopes. Mom likely would've liked here."

Hank allowed a small smile to slip out at that. Supposed his wife was a special breed too. In a whole lot of ways. Had to be to have put up with him for all those years. "Likely," he confirmed.

Ethan rolled his head against his shoulder, deep in thought. "Since Will and Nina live together does it mean they're gonna get married too?"

"No idea," Hank provided. Though, he'd hedge his bets on no. Didn't get that vibe off the two at all. Didn't ever get the starry-eyed infatuation period rolling off of them. That angst and tension had been a whole lot more apparent watching Halstead and Manning interact at Med then anything he was getting about star-crossed lovers coming off the two that had been downstairs last night.

"When Erin and Jay get married does that make Will my brother-in-law too?" E asked.

"Suppose so," Hank allowed. Supposed it really depended on how extended you wanted your family to be and how close knit any of them could manage. Or how much any of them needed additional family members in that moment.

"I guess it's good they're coming over," E finally said. "Since Jay and Will's mom is dead too and they get sad today too."

"Hmm …," Hank grunted. Didn't really need a commentary.

"Jay's the little brother," E said. "Will's the older brother."

"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged again.

"Sometimes you can't really tell," Magoo said.

Hank shrugged a little under his kid. "Those lines blur more when the kids get to be adults."

"It didn't with me and Justin," E said.

Hank grunted. "Ah, well," he said and gripped at his boy's shoulder. "Me and your mom did a good job at spacing out you kids."

E just lay there real quiet. Hank did too. Trying to weigh what was going through his kid's mind. What thoughts he was processing or trying to piece together. That brain teaser Magoo was working on that day in trying to figure out the current state of their lives and realities.

"Sometimes I think Erin is maybe more like an aunt than a big sister," the kid finally said.

Hank grunted at that and reached to hold onto his boy. There was another reality of spacing out the kids.

"I think with the age gap between you kids, Erin's ended up playing a lot of different roles for you, Magoo," he said. "Especially since your mom's been gone."

"She's basically my best friend," E said quietly. There was a long pause that Hank could tell his kid was weighing if he should add more and finally said, "And Jay too."

Hank grunted. "I know," he confirmed on his own that time. He did know. Erin had set herself up for that role from near day one. Positioned herself in it when the kid was still just a toddler and she'd help out with the babysitting – which Hank was loath to call babysitting when she was family and still living at home. "And know the age gap can sometimes make her seem a bit more like she might be aunt-like. But, think it's more that Erin knows it's hard for you to not have your mom around. So she tries a bit to fill those shoes sometimes. Mother you when you need it."

E glanced up at him. Hank had been staring at the ceiling but met his eyes when he felt them land on him. "She'll be a good mom likely."

Hank made a small noise and gave him another thin, sad smile – because he knew that'd be a whole other ball game that his girl and Jay would be processing and dealing with themselves that day. And he knew it was a hard one too. "She will be," he graveled for his boy, though. Because that's all the kid needed to know – needed to be told. And it was the truth anyway.

His kid nodded and lay there again. Again piecing together that puzzle. A fucking hard puzzle to piece together anymore seeing as they had so many missing pieces.

"I sort of think I want to be more like the big sister Erin is to me than the big brother Justin ever was to me," E said quietly. "To Henry. Even though I'm just his uncle."

Something about it stung. Right to the core and behind his eyes. That piece of their reality. That J hadn't managed to be much of a big brother. That he had his moments. That Hank didn't doubt that J loved Magoo. But the relationship had never really developed the way him and Cami would've hoped the boys would have. And now it never would. No matter what glorified version of his son they tried to create for themselves. No matter the changes J had made in his life. The things in there that they could all be proud of. No matter that at his core, J was a good kid and a really sweet boy. His mother's boy as much as Magoo. In a whole lot of ways, that was just going to be fables they were feeding themselves – and Henry and Magoo. And Magoo likely wasn't going to buy them. There was always going to be memories of the animosity and the ways that Justin had hurt him and failed him. And that was going to be something that Hank knew was going to hurt him too for the rest of his life. And that it was going to be a reminder of another way he'd failed his kids and his family. That it was another thing he hadn't been able to fix. To fucking make better.

So he just held his boy tight, and rasped, "You know, Ethan, I think that'd be real good. Think that's just what Henry needs."

Because that was reality. And maybe it'd be a piece of the puzzle for his grandbaby's life that would fucking fit. Make it all just fucking come together. Eventually.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your readership, feedback, comments and reviews are appreciated.**

 **The readership on this story, however, and the comments per chapter have really dropped off. And I've gone beyond the four chapters I had promised in trying to wrap things.**

 **At this point I'm feeling pretty disillusioned with the story and where it's at. I haven't felt very motivated to write it at all even as time allows.**

 **The general summary of what was going to happen at Christmas:**

 **-Jay is moved by Hank getting him the stocking made.**

 **-Henry is cute, Ethan is excited about some of his presents and appreciative.**

 **-Ethan got people thoughtful gifts and they are suitably appreciative.**

 **-Jay got some thoughtful gifts for Erin and she really likes it.**

 **-Jay also something for Hank.**

 **-Erin put some effort into her gift for Hank.**

 **-Hank was thoughtful with his gifts.**

 **-Hank gets Erin something to remind her where she came from, and also puts effort toward starting to make his home less of a museum to try to encourage the women folk to come over more and to make the house more of the family's in their current state.**

 **-Erin gets super competitive about Xbox**

 **-Jay and Hank have a conversation about the whole Erin's father thing and the Bunny situation.**

 **-Hank drives Olive and Henry room. They have a chat about Justin. And relationships in the family now.**

 **The plan when I was trying to wrap up the story was to end it around Hank's birthday with some closure and then moving toward new beginnings.**

 **At this point, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this story. If I do anymore updates, I might either jump ahead and just do some random scenes that I've thought of. Or I might start another story in a similar vein to Scenes (Scenes 2?) and just have it as random scenes again from their lives.**

 **Or I might just not write anymore. I'm really not feeling very motivated about it even though I do have ideas for scenes and some things crop up both in the chapters and on the show that I'd like to explore.**

 **I also might do a cross-over story with SVU that would only be about three chapters.**

 **Or I might go back and work on some of the SVU stories, as as usual, I keep still getting requests for that.**

 **Or — I might just focus on my other writing.**

 **I really don't know at this point. I just know it took me a really long time to write this chapter and I don't feel that excited about writing any more Christmas chapters, even though I know where they were generally going.**

 **But generally, the readership on this story seems to have really died out.**


	47. Traditions Worth Keeping

**Title: Aftermath**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.**

 _ **This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.**_

 **A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3 and certain episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.**

"Erin," Hank near barked down behind her. "Would you get out of the frame."

She gave him a disapproving glance of her shoulder and completely ignored him, finishing her few steps up the stairs to where Ethan was trying to help Henry down the stairs. And Henry didn't want any help down the stairs. And as usual, Henry was way more interested in finding every little dust bunny that Jay had somehow managed to miss in his endless dusting and vacuuming of their stairs, than he was in coming down the stairs for Christmas. He also wanted to do it his way. Which was one step at a time on his diapered ass – fully ignoring Ethan's effort to hold his hand and come down the steps.

So they were at a bit of a standstill. It actually felt like they were fucking cheerleaders standing at the bottom of the steps, trying to urge Henry to come down. But it was his father's son (and his grandfather's grandson). He did thing his own way, in his own sweet ass time. So who knew when the boys would actually get down the stairs – if ever – and Christmas would actually begin. It'd even seemed like Eth had given up on trying to cajole his nephew down the stairs, and had set his ass down too. Only now he was flailing his crutches around with each little step they did take, in a way that Erin was sure was going to have them hitting against the walls and leaving marks for them to scrub off.

So she'd gone back up the few steps to retrieve them. "Here, give me those," she said and Ethan complied. She didn't even know why he was bringing them down anyways. Bringing down the crutches – but didn't have his glasses on and she knew that it'd only be a matter of time before someone got sent back upstairs to find where they'd been left.

But the crutches – he could navigate just the house without them. Especially with going down the stairs on his ass. He'd just end up crawling all over the floor with Henry when they two of them did get downstairs. And crawling under the Christmas tree retrieving presents for everyone. He wasn't going to need the things. But she suspected he was still dragging from the chemo. Bad.

They all were that morning. Not from the chemo like Ethan. But from their own individual weights of the day. Christmas was such a loaded holiday to begin with. And it just seemed like it got more and more loaded with their family. Partnering with Jay was only adding a bigger burden. His fucked-up family dynamic and the death of his mom so soon after the holiday. It wasn't exactly the most wonderful time of the year for him either.

Add in the fact that Erin didn't think any of the adults in the house had gotten more than MAYBE three hours sleep that night. And that was probably being generous. She was feeling a lot of Christmas cheer in the room yet.

Though, there'd been a brief moment of it. Sort of. When Ethan had barged through their bedroom door with Henry in his arms. Near tossing his little nephew between her and Jay and then crawling up there himself. The two of them in a fit of giggles and sillies at that point that he barely managed to get out a "Merry Christmas!"

It was the same as most Christmas mornings. The more normal ones they'd managed. Where Justin and then Justin and Ethan and then just Ethan would come barging through her bedroom door at Hank and Camille's and throw themselves into her bed in a fit of sillies, excited for presents and stockings and Daddy's French Toast breakfast and turkey and Mommy's Gingerbread cake and fancy chocolates and exotic fruit and more treats and sugar in one day than they'd usually get to see in a year all intermingled with visits from, or to, the grandparents. They wanted to get the show on the road.

She'd become the designated stopping point. The one the boys had to wake up first before they went downstairs. Though, there'd been a point where Justin got too old and too cool and too much of trying to be a tough-guy, bad-ass teenager to come barging in. Then she'd been the second stopping point – for Ethan. He'd bug his brother to get up before coming over to her room and peeking in, only to charge at her and giggle at her and beg her to get up. And she'd gotten that bit of time to cuddle with him back then before they'd go over and raise Justin themselves – force him begrudgingly out of bed. Though, those had been later. Usually he'd sheepishly come to her bedroom door too and eventually come and sit on the foot of her bed – wanting to get on the goo too, but still trying to be too grown up for Christmas excitement.

But it was a tradition. A sequence of events that seemed to have to happen. Because EVERYONE had to be up before they went downstairs for a lot of years. All together. To see the front room and the tree and the stuffed stockings all at the same time. Or at least that had been how it worked until Camille was gone. Christmas hadn't really been "normal" since then. Not matter how hard Hank tried. And partially because she understood there were parts of those past traditions and sequences that he just didn't want to relive every year.

More and more, though, the shifts and changes were driving home to Erin over the years that she'd gotten a brief glimpse of what a "normal" family might look like. Only for it all to fall apart.

But, Erin supposed, in another way, it'd given her a reality check about what family actually was. How family was supposed to be. To come together – and be together – even in the bad and the ugly that Hank and Camille had always lectured about. She just also supposed she'd sort of hoped coming into their home had meant there'd be more good days than the bad and ugly ones. But that just hadn't worked out. Though, it still likely worked out better than if she'd stayed with Bunny. If she'd kept running the streets. She acknowledged she probably would've been dead by fifteen – sixteen, if she was lucky – if the Voights hadn't taken her in.

Erin would admit, though, as a teenager, she was likely the last one to get out of bed. At least on most days. Or at least weekends. Weekdays were different. It was a battle for bathroom time in the mornings.

But even though on Christmas, she didn't rise out of bed, she was awake. Because those first several years at the Voights – when she got her first taste of a real Christmas and all the smells and treats and goodies and the bit of spoiling combined with a lot of little and big family traditions – left her just as excited as the boys. She wanted to get the show on the road too back then.

But she'd usually keep the boys in her room for at least half-an-hour. Not that she thought that Hank and Camille wouldn't have been woken up by all the banter in the house with paper-thin walls. But it did give them a bit more time to at least lay flat with their eyes closed after they'd likely had their own late night. And, Erin suspected that Camille, at least, liked listening to the silly antics of excited kids going on in the next room. And, Erin supposed, she liked having that bit of time with her little brothers while they were both still little and goofy. Back when it would've been Justin tossing his toddler brother into her bed and wanting to go check out his new hockey equipment and collector cards or little plastic helmets or player figurines or Blackhawk clothing, posters or pennants that would enviably be under the tree or in the stocking in some way shape or form.

These little treasures that had come to line the shelves and the walls in the boys' room, intermingled with Justin's car obsession that his little brother was adopting and somehow already seemed to be showing itself in his baby son. The hockey and football stuff taking up space in the room only to be joined by Ethan's baseball and dinosaur paraphernalia. Some of Justin's treasures from childhood had come down. As Ethan claimed the room as his own and as Justin picked some of the particularly treasured items that he wanted to keep into adulthood or to share with his son and had moved them with him to Base. But for the stuff that Eth and Hank had packed away on their own, since the summer, Erin had seen her baby brother had quietly retrieved parts of it. Hot Wheels and diecasts of Justin's had returned to the shelves. Some of the little hockey figures, helmets and pucks had joined them – back on an upper shelf that Justin had claimed as his own because they would be too far out of the reach of his prying baby brother. But now it was his baby brother who'd carefully returned them back to their spot – seemingly silently honoring the constant arguments about not touching Justin's stuff. Now who knew how long the items would sit up there without being touched. Collecting dust and haunting the room more than keeping watch.

And with all that, Erin supposed the boys throwing themselves into her bed that morning – not just hers but her and Jay's, in a master bedroom in a house of her own and not the one they'd been raised in and had their "normal" Christmases together - made it all a little more bittersweet than it already was. Because they were full circle.

Now it was Ethan – near Justin's age way back then – throwing Henry, near Ethan's age way back then, at her. And there she was still playing the big sister role and doing the big sister duties that morning. But it wasn't the same in anyway. It didn't feel like it. Not her, not them, not the setting, and not who and what they'd all become or grown into or had to be. And the little groan she'd gave at the boys waking her had a little more to it than the faked annoyance of years gone-by. Because it did hurt.

It hurt on a lot of levels. The changes. The losses. And the quiet realization - that she was trying not to over-think or dwell on – that in different circumstances, there would've been another little person there. A very little person. A few-week-old baby. Her and Jay's baby.

But she'd pushed that down. Because it never was. It never really was to be. And there were far more real things – real missing pieces – to weigh heavy on them that day. So instead, she'd tried to focus on attempting a mildly happy face. To grin and bear it.

And even though her and Jay had both grumbled at Ethan and Henry invading their space, they'd both teased them and tickled them and give their own greetings of merry Christmas until everyone was ready to come downstairs.

Only Henry really wasn't ready to come downstairs. Really, if Henry had his way, he'd likely live in their stairwells. They were a source of endless fascination.

So Erin just came down and leaned the crutches against the counter in the kitchen, in case Ethan really did decide he wanted them or needed them when he got down there. But her movement on the stairs only attracted another stair climber. Bear went charging up to see what the hold up was, sniffing at a chunk of likely his own hair that Henry had found and now held out for him. Apparently the dog thought it was a snack and nipped at it.

"Ethan …," Olive called with some anxiety in her voice, nudging toward the stairs and lowering her phone from her own photo-taking effort. Eth glanced at her. "Please don't let the dog get that close to his hands."

E squinted at her and looked as Henry held up some more fur and Bear again nipped at it. "He doesn't bite," he said with some disgruntled tone but reached and batted the dog away from his nephew a bit. "Bear! Eating your own fur is gross."

"Seen him eat and lick grosser things," Jay provided flatly from where he was leaning against the counter further back in the kitchen. He didn't look that enamored with the show they were watching. But even though Jay could function on little to no sleep, he wasn't the nicest person to be around when he only had a couple hours. He actually had a better disposition on no sleep than he did on two hours, in Erin's experience.

"Start the coffee," she nodded at him. Add that to the list of gross things in the house. Jay did not know how to make a good cup of coffee. At all. She thought it was just the industrial coffeemaker at work. But living with him had proven that he couldn't pull it off at home either. But hopefully it'd at least perk him up a bit.

He sighed a bit but turned, readying the coffeemaker. Normally she'd watch him and instruct him on just what he was doing wrong and why it was going to taste as awful as usual – but, she was sort of interested in the show on the stairs. Or at least getting it on the road.

"I just …" Olive sighed. "I don't want him to nip him by accident."

"Erin, get the dog," Hank ordered.

She cast him another look but moved to go back up the couple steps and grab at Bear's collar to encourage him down the stairs. "I thought I was getting into your frame."

He just grunted at her, his phone still held up. She wasn't entirely convinced he even knew how to use the camera feature on his phone. Or rather, not well. She'd seen some of his so-called pictures he'd taken of his son and grandson. Camille would roll her eyes. They weren't the kind of things you'd ever bother getting printed out and saving for the photo album. A photographer, Hank was not. But he was trying. Like he did with a lot of things.

She let go of Bear as she dragged him back down the stairs and he immediately went back up to the boys.

"Bear!" Hank barked at him that time and the dog gave him a timid look. Bear liked Hank. Or maybe it was more that he tried to get Hank to like him – really hard. But just like with a lot of people, Hank had managed to put the fear of the Lord in the dog. She didn't know how he managed that. Other than his gravelly voice seemed to reasonably intimidate most living things without him having to lift a finger. Not that he hesitated to lift a finger – or hand, or fist. But he just didn't do that with things or people he cared about. And Bear had managed to wriggle his way onto that list.

"You're getting lots of pictures, Hank," Erin mumbled at him and stepped forward to nudge the dog back down the steps again. He was a little more hesitant this time, now that Hank had raised his voice at him.

"I'm trying to get some video," Hank grunted.

Erin shook her head, rolling her eyes, as she pressed on Bear's rump to get him to sit and wait for the boys too. "Oh, this his going to be a fantastic home movie, Hank," she raised her eyebrow at him.

He just smacked at her. But she heard Olive make an amused noise off to the side. Even she had given up on taking pictures of the kids coming down the stairs. You really only needed so many pictures of the boys sitting on the stairs. Even if they looked kind of cute in the Christmas morning pajamas, that Hank had again been right about them both ending up into the second set they'd been given the night before. Leaky diaper on Henry and feverish, night sweats on Ethan.

"Can I just carry him down the rest of the way?" Ethan sighed, shifting his boney little ass on the hardwood a bit. He looked pleadingly at Olive and then his dad.

Olive shrugged with a little breath. It was somewhere between relief and disappointment that this little Christmas morning moment hadn't worked out. But there'd be next year. Though, who knew what next year would look like. Erin didn't think the changes they were all going through were going to start slowing down or stopping anytime soon. But she did know that Henry was still too young to really know or appreciate that it was Christmas yet or what that all meant. He might grasp that a bit more by next year. Though, it wouldn't likely be until the following year that he got to the point he was really fun. And, by then, Olive might want to keep Christmas morning with her son all to herself. She might not be in Chicago anymore. Again. Or maybe she'd have moved on enough that she was with someone else and trying to integrate more with their family than she was trying to appease and keep up the traditions of her dead husband's family.

Hank gave a little nod, though, and finally tucked his phone back into his pocket. He went up the couple steps and reached for his grandson.

"C'mon, Big Guy, let's get this show on the road," he said to him, as he raised him up.

"Nawwwooooooo," Henry whined in one of his latest favorite words. Barely a year and a half and already pushing toward starting in on the Terrible Twos early and definitely projecting his father again in testing the boundaries and the patience of all those around him.

Hank just smiled at him, though, and gave him a little bounce before putting his two feet on the ground. Henry immediately tried to go back to the stairs, but Hank set himself in front of him, blocking his path. The little guy grabbed at his pant leg and expressed some more grunts of distaste – his popa's genes and personality in the whole nature versus nurture conundrum showing there. But Hank held steady, shifting slightly to keep blocking his way every time H tried to deek around him. Good practice for if he ever did get on skates or put on a football jersey down the road.

Ethan slide his butt down the next few stairs until his feet were on the ground and then grabbed onto the railing to haul himself up.

"You want to head into the living room and see if he gives chase," Hank put to Olive.

She gave a little nod, and called her son's name as she moved out of the kitchen and into the living space. She came to a bit of a halt, though. Stopping and giving them a glance. Hank nudged at Ethan's shoulder to get him moving too and Henry's eyes followed his uncle, only to let go of Hank and going toddling at a hundred miles an hour into the other room – beating Ethan there.

But Erin looked over and watched, seeing what Olive had seen and seeing Ethan glow at her surprised look.

"I made it for you," he said shyly but proudly. "For Henry. At summer camp. We did woodworking. I was going to give it to you before, but ..."

He trailed off and Olive embarrassedly looked at the simple wooden toy box that had been placed by the fireplace. One that had been sitting in Hank's back shed for months - with Olive and Henry's departure. But their arrival back in the city had spawned into Ethan and Hank quietly working on it putting some finishing touches on it as a Christmas present. Staining it and carving out a raised letter H that had been painted blue and attached to the front of the box. A real treasure chest.

"Dad helped with the stain," Eth corrected himself, before he reminded her - or presented any accusations about her taking his nephew, Hank's grandson, away in the aftermath of Justin's death. "And bevelling the H. For H."

Erin could feel Olive's eyes welling but she managed to give Ethan a little smile - but so sad. "It's beautiful," she said, catching Hank's eyes too gratefully. "Henry," she called. "Come see what Magoo and Popa made for you."

Henry watched her, still clinging to Popa's leg. But Hank held onto his shoulders and gave him a bit of a pogo ride, nudging him closer to the living space, earning some giggles.

"You're silly," Olive teased him and his gapped tooth grin. "Come look," she encouraged again and held out her arms. He giggled more and let go of Hank to go toddling at a hundred miles an hour toward her. But he hadn't reached her - or the toy box - before he got sidetracked by more baby-appealing gifts in sight.

Erin smiled as she watched. Henry stopped and looked at the changed space for a split second and then plow right for the Santa gift his mom had bought him. He'd have to look at the toy box later. But he'd have lots of time for that. Erin imagined a life time of it being in his bedroom or whatever was designated as his play space. So, it was forgivable the the little guy wanted to look at the plastic hauling truck that was bigger than him and carrying two cars just a big instead.

He immediately went over and lifted one of the cars off the bed, gazing at it for a second and then taking it over to his mom.

"Whoa …," Olive smiled at him, giving her head a small shake and Ethan an apologetic look. But Eth didn't seem to mind. He'd been coached into understanding that the gift was for Henry but the real gift was for Olive. He couldn't expect a baby to know or appreciate the thought and the effort that had gone into the woodworking project. "Look what Santa brought," Olive allowed to her son, after sharing a quiet, thankful look with her young brother-in-law.

"Kah!" Henry managed in as close as he'd managed to get to 'car' in his vocal vocabulary. It got dropped on the floor, though, and he ran back to the truck, retrieving the second plastic car and dropped it – and himself to his knees – giving it an introductory roll.

Ethan gazed at the little boy too only for his eyes to go big as he realized what Henry was rolling the car around on – a new roadway carpet. One of Hank's contributions to the Christmas effort for Henry. And even though Erin knew it was new – she'd had watched him take it out of the packaging and try to get it to flatten early that morning – she also knew that he'd likely picked it because his boys had spent endless hours on one of their own as they grew up.

"Hey," Ethan said, smiling down at it. "We had one of these!" He dropped down to sit with Henry who seemed content just rolling the one car back and forth. It was far too big to fit on the roadways on the matt but he was still too little to know or care about that either. "This will be awesome to play Hot Wheels on," Ethan told his nephew.

But then he crawled over to the edge of the fireplace where Henry's stocking and goodies had been piled. "Did you see this, H?" he asked, excitedly, giving his dad a cautious glance, as he reached to retrieve the stuffed animal that Erin had been told as they set off the Christmas goodies that Ethan had picked for his nephew. "It's Chase. You're favorite."

Erin smiled at that. Though, Henry undoubtedly would stand and dance in front of the TV staring at Paw Patrol, she didn't think he had a favorite. If anything, it'd been Ethan who'd decided that the police suited dog with markings strikingly similar to Bear's should be Henry's favorite. She was pretty sure Chase was more Ethan's favorite and that even though he tried to be all grown up anymore – and was in so many ways, more than he should be – that he also likely wouldn't protest getting a Chase car for his collection. Though, she thought that Eth was discovering too was that part of the magic – and benefits – of having much younger siblings … or nephews, was that it provided a reasonable excuse to still interact with things you should've long out grown on occasion.

Henry gave the toy a glance but then looked back to his car – back and forth and back and forth it went. Erin imagined that would be what a lot of the morning looked like. Henry would just do his thing while the rest of them did theirs and maybe occasionally he'd decide he wanted to help them rip the paper off something or claim a box or that one of their presents – undoubtedly the ones he shouldn't be getting into – looked more interesting than his.

So Ethan just set the dog down on top of the big plastic truck. Bear went over to sniff it. Hopefully the toy would make it through the day without Bear deciding it was his. The dog had a tendency to think anything soft was a chew toy if it was left at mouth level. Though, it might be kind of funny to see him mangling Chase. And, it might be sort of funny to watch Eth's reaction. It might be worse than when Bear got a hold of Indominus, who'd he'd found quite the taste for. Whatever chemicals in the plastic that gave it that soft, scaly, reptile-like texture apparently were particularly appealing.

"Bear, Santa brought you your own stuff," Ethan told him, giving his snout a bit of a push. The dog just panted happily in his face. Ethan scrunched up his nose at the smell and gave his dad a look. "Should I unpack Bear's stocking?"

That got a sound out of Hank. If Hank rolled his eyes, he would've. But instead he just gave the kid those eyes he was expert at anyway. The ones that put you in your place. "Think maybe we should work on the people stockings before moving onto the dog's sock," he put flatly. "Where's yours?"

Ethan glanced around the unfamiliar layout a bit. And Erin reached and grabbed Jay's hand, giving it a small tug. He'd at least perked up enough to come over and lean against the counter with her watching the boys starting to get into their stuff.

"C'mon," she told him, pulling him upright with her and dragging them both around the counter.

"Hey," Ethan smiled again, as he realized that his no-so-little pile that year of goodies was on the opposite side of the fireplace. Beyond it not being in the usual spot on the couch in his own front room, his stocking had also massed enough little treats around it that he likely hadn't completely registered that it was his. It was rare that there was more than a bulking stocking and a wrapped Santa present for each of the kids. But apparently they'd all gone a little overboard that year – or shopped too last minute with not enough planning – and even Hank hadn't been able to jam all the stuff inside.

But with some of the items sitting around his stocking, he reached and held up the little Star Wars diecasts that Jay had spotted for him, a smile spreading more across his face. He held it in Jay's direction, because he likely hadn't clued in completely yet that her and Jay had done their fair share of stocking donations that year. The Millennium Falcon and some other ship who's name Erin couldn't remember had been picked up. And she was pretty sure that Jay was likely just feeding into a new obsession where Ethan would have to get every one of the little display pieces for his collection. But apparently that wasn't a bad thing since they were starting to run out of the cheap Lego Star Wars sets – so Jay felt he was soon going to need something else to bribe Eth with for monthly homework rewards.

"Awesome," Jay allowed flatly.

Eth just grinned and showed his dad, who managed a grunt. The set-up was awkward in the room. It felt like none of the adults really knew where they were supposed to go or sit. So they were all just standing there watching the boys. Though, Olive had lowered herself to the ground with Henry. But he was too busy still tossing the plastic cars around to pay her much attention.

Eth set it back down and looked back at his pile. He grinned again picking up the Xbox headset that she'd been informed by Jay looked like an X-Wing pilot helmet. Whatever that meant. But Ethan apparently knew, because spun back around, showing it to Jay too. "These are awesome!" he declared.

Jay allowed a small smile at that. Though, they weren't an item they'd picked. They'd come with whatever package it was that Hank had bought for the Xbox that was sitting there in wrapping paper waiting for Eth to get to. And Erin doubted Hank even knew what they were supposed to look like – but either way he'd managed to be a cool dad.

"Look, Dad," Ethan said, holding them up for his father to come and retrieve. Hank humored him, stepping over to take the box. He read the label like he'd never seen them before.

"These mean I don't have to listen to you and Evalyn yelling through the TV screen anymore?" Hank put flatly, handing them back down to the kid.

Ethan made an annoyed noise at him. But set them down and picked up the Xbox controller that was sitting in front of the stocking too.

"Oh, sweet …," he said but picked up the box a little hesitantly and examined it.

"You need another controller?" Erin put to him.

He gave her a glance and a little nod. "I only have two," he muttered, still gazing at something on the box. "So three will be better for when Eva and Evan are both over. Or you and Jay?" he put to her. She rolled her eyes a little at that. Jay didn't mind sitting down and playing with him, but she didn't have much interest in getting involved in that. He looked back to the box, though, and then glanced apologetically at his dad. "But I don't know if this will work," he said. "It's for the Xbox One."

He held it up to his dad again, who took it, playing stupid. "Mmm …," he grunted and looked at the box too. "Thought you had an Xbox?"

"A Three-Sixty," Ethan provided.

Hank grunted and shrugged. "Santa must've been confused," he continued the act.

Jay reached to take the box from Hank, who handed it over. He flipped it over and gave it his own examination – either out of interest or to be part of the little show they were putting on and Ethan was just completely oblivious too. It might be funny if Hank let him unpack the stocking before he let the kids' unwrap their Santa gifts – because she'd seen him ramming a game and it looked like a points card for the online thing the system had in there. It'd be interesting to see if Ethan actually clued into what was in the Santa present or if he just thought his dad was really that much of a luddite about the whole videogame thing. If he got frustrated and disappointed as they went along or if he kept trying to be gracious and grateful – because usually Ethan managed that reasonably well for a kid his age, given all he'd been through.

"I think it's backward compatible," Jay provided, handing the box back to Ethan.

The kid looked at the packaging again, clearly trying to see where Jay had spotted that bit of information.

"Try it out," Hank allowed. "We'll see about shipping it back to the elves' workshop if it don't work."

Erin made a small amused sound at that. Sometimes Hank's tough guy image really didn't work. Or maybe it just didn't work with the people who knew him best. He wasn't so tough. Or at least, he wasn't hard. He had a soft underbelly – that he only let some people see.

Her eyes drifted to Hank as she made the sound, though, and then landed just past him – where her stocking had ended up on the couch. Though, it wasn't the stocking that her eyes landed on. It was an antique globe that she'd looked at and looked at at one of the flea markets that she regularly dragged Jay to as something to do outside of the house on their days off rooster. She liked it. More than liked it. And she thought she had just the place for it. But she hadn't been able to justify the price tag on it. Not with all the extra expenses they already had that fall with the move.

Her eyes moved to Jay. "You went back and got it?" she demanded of him with some shock.

He gave her a look, but she just gestured over to the couch and then dodged by Hank to pick it up and examine it again. It was clearly well used – but well loved. It'd been taken care of. Though, it'd clearly been spun around and examined and dreamed upon by others. Fingers trekking around the longitudes and latitudes. Maybe by someone who actually got to go some of those places their fingers landed. Likely more places than she'd ever get to.

"I'm pretty sure that's from Santa," Jay put to her flatly, raising an eyebrow.

"Right," she said, raising her eyebrow right back.

"But I'm also pretty sure, that you hummed and haa'ed over that thing enough, that Santa likely heard you in the North Pole," he provided as he came over to her. She gave his shoulder a little punch, but he just smiled and gave the globe a spin of his own.

She gestured at his stocking and pile of treasures that she'd at down the couch from where he'd apparently snuck down and placed the globe later in the night … or morning. It likely proved that she actually had managed to shift into a relatively deep sleep at some point in the couple hours they got, because she hadn't heard him go back downstairs. Though, it likely also provided just how little sleep he'd gotten.

His eyes moved over to where she gestured, though. They set on the stocking – the one that Hank had had Trudy make for him, intricately decorated and embroidered with his name - and she felt him tense next to her. He looked away – gazing back into the kitchen.

"I'm going to check on the coffee," he muttered and moved away.

She watched him go. Watched how he kept his back to her. How he held his body. The weight and tension across his shoulders. And then she shared a small look with Hank before following after him.

Jay was leaning against the counter – propping himself up as he gazed at the coffee dripping slowly into the pot. She stepped in next to him, watching it drip too.

"You OK?" she put to him quietly.

He nodded but shook his head and reached to squeeze at the bridge of his nose – though she knew it was really more that he was pressing his fingers into his eyes.

"Was that you?" he asked, casting her a glassy look.

She shook her head. "No …," she allowed. She gave a little glance back into the living space. Hank stood looking – looking sad and looking hurt and looking concerned. But as they met eyes, he looked down at his son instead and crouched down, taking the Star Wars packaging that Eth was holding up at him and working to try to help him work around his tremoring hands to get the little ships out that apparently needed to be examined right then.

"Why?" Jay asked so blankly.

Erin let out a little breath and looked back at him, her hand reaching to rub lightly down his back. "I don't know, Jay …," she sighed. "Because … Christmas is family time. And you're family."

He gave her a look at that. And there were a thousand unspoken words behind it. But he didn't need to say any of them. She knew. She knew this time of year was hard for him. She knew that family was hard for him. She knew that the dynamic with her family – with Hank – was hard for him. But she knew just like Hank tried hard – so did Jay. And they both needed to try now. They all needed to try now. Because that was the only way any of them were going to get through. Not just that day – but the year. The future – and whatever it held for any of them. All of them.

So she just took his hand and gripped it tightly. "C'mon," she said. "I think you need to unpack your stocking before Bear gets to unpack his."

He gave him a small smile at that. And though he stood his ground –he hesitated in his movement – he did let himself follow after her and come back into the front room. Hank gave them another glance as they returned and rose up away from the squat he'd taken between the two boys.

"Didn't mean to upset you," he nodded at Jay. There was a quiet sincerity to it that didn't come out of Hank that often.

Jay shook his head and opened his mouth. Erin could tell he was trying to find something to say. But likely didn't know what to. He likely didn't want to reveal too much of himself to Hank – even if he was being quietly and backwardly welcomed into their fucked up little family.

So Hank just stuck out his hand, and Jay let himself accept it.

"Merry Christmas," Hank offered.

Jay gave a little nod. "Merry Christmas," he managed. But that tremble in his vocal chords was still stirring there just slightly in the background.

Hank gazed at him. But then gestured at the stockings – their stockings. And at Ethan and Henry and Olive.

"Like to get a shot with all of you kids with the stockings," he said. "Before you dig in … Tradition …"

Erin could feel the small stir of sadness and awkwardness and uncertainty in Jay again. But she provided a nod on his behalf and again reached and hooked her pinky just slightly with his, giving it a small tug toward the couch and the goodies.

"Tradition," she agreed.

Because some traditions were worth keeping. Some pictures were worth taking. Some moments were worth capturing. Remembering. And this was one of them.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Felt like writing this, so this got written. But likely going to hop back into So It Goes again for a few more chapters. Might do a Florida chapter or two now due to popular demand. We'll see how it goes.**

 **Your readership, feedback, reviews and comments are much appreciated.**


	48. Notification

**CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN ADDED. PLEASE CHECK FOR THE CHAPTER ENTITLED TRADITIONS WORTH KEEPING. IT DOES NOT SEEM TO BE BEING PLACED IN THE RIGHT SPOT. IT MAY BE BEFORE OR AFTER THIS NOTIFICATION. THIS NOTIFICATION WILL BE MOVED OR DELETED WHEN APPROPRIATE.**

This is a notification for readers that I have started another story entitled So It Goes, which begins several weeks or so after Aftermath.

I am currently writing and posting chapters in So It Goes.

I was feeling rather stuck and disillusioned with Aftermath.

The chapters in So It Goes may at some point merge into Aftermath. I am not sure. As I am also not sure if/when I will wrap up the Christmas chapters and storyline in Aftermath, which was supposed to go up to about mid-January.

I am also not sure how much I will update So It Goes. But I am for now. It takes more for a Scenes structure and does not have a directed plot or destination. It is just an exploration of moments, characters and themes.

I've had some people indicate they are not getting updates about So It Goes despite following me as an author. So this is just a friendly note to direct you that way, should you be interested.

I hope to see you over there. Your readership, comments, feedback and reviews are appreciated.

And hopefully at some point in the future I will come back and wrap this up a bit too. We'll see.


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